II The Healer
by INK
Summary: A rather long and complicated story revolving around our good friends Ron and Hermione, and their conflicts in their sixth/seventh year.
1. Prologue

Prologue 

Well, it would have been nice to think that Ron and Hermione fell in love and lived Happily Ever After, now wouldn't it? It certainly seemed to be ending that way where we left off! But, every so often, life will take a good swing at you when your guard is down; these are the punches that hit you the hardest, as well as the ones that leave to deepest scars. Unfortunately for our happy protagonists, (i.e. Ron and Hermione) life smacked them extra hard, and was wearing a spiked glove.

As we know, Lord Voldemort (a.k.a. You-know-who, a.k.a. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, a.k.a. the Dark Lord) was returned to power near the end of Ron and Hermione's fourth year. This caused mild panic, to say the least, but still, nothing out of the ordinary happened, so after a while people began to think that either a) maybe it was all a sham, b) maybe the Dark Lord wasn't as all-powerful as he was made out to be, or c) maybe the Dark Lord had come to his senses and wasn't evil any more. (Though it was precious few who believed _that_.) They began to let their guard down, to not pay utmost attention to security, until everyone had all but forgotten that Voldemort was back.

It was right before Christmas in Ron and Hermione's fifth year when he struck again. He had waited patiently for an appropriate opening, and, at 7:42 PM on the evening of Sunday, December 16th, he spotted it. It was smack in the middle of the Hogwarts Christmas dance, when everyone was happy and laughing. It was the perfect scenario for two reasons: no one was expecting an attack, and it would ruin a good mood. 

He had managed to sneak in, disguised as a student, using a Polyjuice potion. Hiding in one of the massive Christmas trees that adorned the Great Hall, he waited for the perfect moment for the attack. He was planning on creating a huge cloud of poisonous gas and centralize it over the dancers, not letting any of the deadly vapors escape until just when he wanted them to. Since all the students and staff were at the dance, it would be the perfect opportunity to kill as many people as he could. He would have succeeded, too, except that one student had sensed the tainted evil of his presence and tipped everyone off before he had a chance to complete the spell. With all his victims running out the doors for dear life, spreading to fill the castle and its grounds, his plan no longer worked. To envelop the entire Hogwarts property with the poisonous gas was to kill himself, as well, something which he did not want. It was all he could do to send jets of fire and _Avada Kedravas_ in every which direction, and pretend that he had planned the massacre. 

The school was evacuated almost immediately; all the students sent home to their families. Many of the Ministry of Magic employees were place on assignment in Muggle communities, to keep an ear open for any clues to Lord Voldemort's whereabouts. A good many friendships and blossoming loves were torn apart that week, and Christmas was virtually nonexistent. Who wanted to party when there was a mad killer to be had? The festivities would attract too much attention, they said. Better to be on the safe side, spend the holiday mending cuts and patching tears, and wait until next year to celebrate. 

All over Europe, the magical community went into hiding. Communication between friends, extended family and comrades was limited to letters, and face to face meetings were banned. Hogwarts School was empty but for its many ghosts and elves, and even Hagrid, the faithful old gamekeeper had moved out. Some of the more dedicated students kept up their studies through correspondence and books, others not. Fear and paranoia ran rampant.

Nearly two years after the initial attack, Hermione Granger sat straight up in bed, pressing her hand to her mouth.

'


	2. Chapter 1

Part One

Chapter One

It was _that_ dream. She could feel the back of her hand pressed hard against her lips, holding in the scream, the other against her chest, where she could feel her heart pounding. Her breath came short and ragged in her lungs. If there was anything in this world that scared Hermione Granger, it was that dream.

What was so special about that dream? It was more than just a nightmare. It was a memory, a horrible memory. The kind that repeated itself over and over in your head before you went to sleep, then again, with alarming clarity, in your dreams. That was the worst part. Knowing that it _wasn't _just a nightmare, that it had really happened, and that she couldn't forget about it. 

She was at the Christmas ball with Ron. She had been so happy when he asked her, when she knew that he _liked_ her, and that she didn't have to worry. Back when that was her biggest fear. Everyone was happy, laughing, talking, eating the good food, and dancing. She and Ron were laughing at Ginny, as she tried to get up the courage to talk to Harry. She was leaning slightly against Ron, and he against her, both too nervous to do anything more. She smiled as he half put his arm around her and pulled her onto the dance floor. They danced song after son, dance after dance, laughing and talking and having a good time. It was in the middle of a slow song when it happened. Ron had been inches- _inches-_ away from kissing her again, only her second or third real kiss. And then she screamed.

It wasn't Ron who made her scream. No, she much enjoyed being that close to him. But half a second before his lips touched hers, Hermione had felt a surge of evil; cold, dark and rancid. She didn't know what it was or where it came from, but she knew something horrible was going to happen. The minute the scream escaped her lips, everyone panicked. It was utter chaos. Students were running everywhere, knocking into each other and screaming. In the midst of all the confusion, she could hear a cold voice hissing dark incantations and screaming spells. Jets of green light from the _Avada Kedrava_ curse shot out in all directions. Streams of acid-green fire bounced off walls to hit students, burning and killing. 

She hadn't moved. She just stood there, somehow avoiding all the flames and curses, but completely still. It wasn't until Ron finally scooped her up and began running with her in his arms that she came back to reality. She slid out of his grasp and ran beside him, feeling his arm still around her waist, pulling her along. Then one of the jets of fire grazed the side of his head, and he stumbled and fell. Hermione was screaming and crying and calling his name all at once, and she barely noticed the hands that pried her away from him, carried her away.

The dream always changed right then. The memory was over, and she was living a new nightmare, watching as Ron, dressed all in white, was led away from her by Ministry of Magic officials, a tortured expression on his pale face. Though he looked the same as he always had, but she somehow knew that he was supposed to be older. She screamed and yelled at the officials to bring him back to her, but her cries went unheard. It was always right when they closed the door behind them that she woke up. 

The dance had been the last place Hermione had seen him face to face. The last memory she had of Ron was him crumpling in her arms, his face contorted in pain, yelling at her to keep running. They had taken everyone to various Muggle hospitals, and she had received no word from anyone if Ron was alive. Four weeks, four long, torturous weeks, passed before she received an owl from him, asking if she was all right.

Since then, she, Ron and Harry had exchanged letters, long chatty and generally informative. But over the months, they had gotten vaguer, until she barely noticed when one of them forgot to write her. She hadn't heard from Ron for three weeks, and she had had no word from Harry in over a month.

Hermione sighed and looked at the alarm clock. 5:30 AM. Damn. _I may as well get up,_ she though miserably. She rolled out of bed, gasping as her feet hit cold floor. She pulled a pair of pants and a sweater on and jammed her feet into slippers. Glancing at the calendar, she realized that it was July 31st. Harry's birthday. The day she would usually be getting a letter from Hogwarts containing her supply list and a reminder to be at platform 9¾ on September 1st. She sighed heavily and plodded down the stairs to the kitchen. 

__

One of these days, we need to get a different cereal than Shreddies, Hermione thought. _I'm very sick of Shreddies. _She dismally poured herself a bowl and spread the paper out in front of her. News, boring. Entertainment, boring. Living, boring. Aha! Comics! But even the comics were dull and silly today. Disgusted, She tossed the paper away and stared gloomily out the window at the rain pounding down. Everything about the day promised to be dark and miserable. 

Hermione finally pushed the bowl away from her and stood up. It was days like this that she missed her friends the most. How as she supposed to keep up her magic studies if anything magical reminded her of her friends? She wasn't allowed to see them, only write letters. She swallowed her tears before they could fall and plodded silently back up the stairs to her room and flopped on her bed.

There was that horrible picture of Ron. Well, technically, it wasn't a horrible picture. It was a very good picture, really. But looking at it was hard. Hermione picked it up and stared at it, thinking that it was lucky she had taken it with a Muggle camera. She didn't think she could take it if the picture smiled and waved at her the way magical ones did. The photographic Ron was frozen in the air, caught in mid-leap. She had taken it outside on the Hogwarts grounds, as Ron jumped out of a tree. She smiled at his giddy expression and replaced it on her bedside table. 

Of course, he would look different, now. It _had _been a year and a half since she had seen him, and a person can change a lot in that time. She knew she had. She stood up and stared at her reflection in the mirror above her bookshelf.

About a month after her sixteenth birthday, Hermione's hair had suddenly lost its bushiness, so now it hung luxuriously long and thick over her shoulders. Her front teeth had shrunk, or the rest of her had grown to fit them, and her eyes were slanted and a deep cinnamon. Her mother had once described her as having an "elfish" appearance, and Hermione had to agree. The boys that had once teased her about her hair and teeth now stared bewilderedly after her, transfixed. What she wouldn't give to be plain again. The only person she wanted looking at her like that was Ron, and he was on the other side of the country and banned from contact with her. 

Hermione felt a tear slide down her cheek as she thought of her friends. When would she ever see them again?

__

Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Her head flew up. There was an owl sitting outside the window, tapping its beak on the glass. Hermione raced to open the window, surprised. It wasn't Hedwig or Pigwidgeon, Harry's and Ron's owls, but a large grey one she didn't recognize. It flew in importantly and dropped a thick envelope on her desk, then hooted and flew back out, leaving a trail of feathers on his wake.

__

Is it owl molting season? Hermione thought absently as she tore open the envelope and pulled out a sheet of heavy parchment. She nearly dropped it. There, at the top of the page, was the Hogwarts crest. She quickly scanned the letter. Sure enough, it was the same summoning letter that she always got on this day, with her supply list and reminder to be on the train to the school. Hardly daring to believe it, she read it again, turned it over and finally placed it on her desk, breathing hard. If she was being asked to return to school, surely everyone else was, too. In a month she could see her friends again. She could see Ron again.

Tap, tap. _Another one?_ Hermione thought, pulling away the curtains. _Two letters in one day?_ She almost fell over when she saw who it was. Pig, Ron's pint-sized owl, somersaulted into her room, fluttering and flipping and running into things. On a normal day, Hermione would have chased him around the room, in a vain effort to retrieve her letter and save her belongings. But today she was so happy top see him there, with a letter from Ron, that she just fell, laughing onto her bed. Pig finally got his bearings straight and landed with a soft _plop_ on chest, dropping the letter in her face. She snatched it and tore it open. _Finally!_

She didn't know what she was expecting, but what was in the small envelope certainly wasn't it. Ron's letter was barely even a letter, just a note. A memo, even:

_Hermione,_

We need to talk, face to face. Apparently, we're allowed to see each other again. So, meet me at the Leaky Cauldron on August 15th at 5:00 PM. I don't care how you get there, but make sure you get there. 

-Ron

Very abrupt indeed. But it was still from Ron, and he wanted to see her. Hermione's heart sang as she replaced the letter into the envelope and scanned her appointment book. August 15th… August 15th… she was free that day. Thank God! _To see Ron again…_

Maybe the day wouldn't be so bad, after all. 

'


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

When August 15th finally rolled around, Hermione was ready. She had been counting the days until then, and had made she made all the necessary arrangements. She would get a ride to London from her father, and she could wander around Diagon Alley until five o'clock, at which point she could go to the Leaky Cauldron and meet Ron. 

Hermione and her father left for London around three o'clock in the afternoon. She had all her money for school supplies, and she was bouncing with excitement. When she mentioned Ron, her father cast her a suspicious glance and told her to be careful, but said nothing more. She kissed his cheek and danced along the sidewalk to the Leaky Cauldron. It was just as she remembered it, warm, friendly, and hopping with witches and wizards. She was greeted by Tom the bartender, whom she had met before, and she sat down to get the news.

"Seems the Ministry decided we were stronger when we were together, so they allowed us to meet, though under top security, mind," Tom told her as he prepared someone's drink. "Headmaster Dumbledore said he wanted his students at the school, where he could keep an eye on them. Security was down when You-Know-Who managed to get in." He shuddered and made a cross on his chest. "May God rest the souls that paid that night."

Hermione swallowed hard. Of course, people had died that night. She remembered gasping when she read in the _Daily Prophet_ that over thirty students had been killed in the attack. It was awful. With a death toll like that, how could Ron have lived? 

He had, of course, but Hermione had had a hard few weeks waiting for word from him. Finally, she bid Tom goodbye and stepped out into Diagon Alley for the first time in two years. 

It was just the same as she remembered it. Everything from the book selection at Flourish and Blotts' to the robes at Madame Malkin's was familiar. Just being there, back with people she knew and places she recalled, was enough to fill her with optimism. If there was any place where she could find her friends, it was here. When she looked down at her watch again, it was four-thirty. Hermione's breath caught. _Just half an hour._ In half an hour, she would see Ron again. She gathered up her purchases and began on the way back to the pub. She walked painstakingly slowly, trying to use up the minutes until five o'clock. Entering the Leaky Cauldron again, she found an empty table for two, and sat down.

Ron must have been running late, because it was over fifteen minutes before anyone new walked through the door. When he did come in, Hermione almost didn't recognize him. It wasn't until some called out, "Hey, Weasley, long time, no see!" that she turned and saw him. And she almost dropped the book she was reading. 

He had changed, all right. Once long and lanky, Ron had grown to suit his frame, so now he appeared tall and fit. His hair, once bright orange, had darkened to a beautiful auburn, and his eyes had picked up a green tint that she could see even from her seat across the room. He would have appeared roguishly hansom, in his jeans, tee shirt and light jacket, if you ignored the tormented look that was deep in his eyes. 

He was hunched over; his collar pulled up around his face. His eyes had dark circles under them, and they carried the weight of lost sleep. He was paler than usual. Fatigue and disorientation hung over him like a heavy cloak. But it was still Ron, and that was what mattered. Hermione finally found her voice and jumped to her feet. "Ron!"

Ron looked up sharply, as if he expected an attack. He searched the room for whoever had called him. When his eyes fell on Hermione, who was walking quickly towards him, avoiding tables and dancing around chairs, they widened in recognition and then wonder. It was a look she had gotten to know well from the local boys, and it made her heart sing to see it from Ron. She was about two feet away from him when he choked out, "Hermione!" and pulled her into a fierce hug so tight she thought her ribs would crack.

She could have stayed that way forever, with her arms around Ron's neck, her face pressed against the cotton of his tee shirt, feeling one of his hands around her waist, the other on the back of her head, pulling her closer, his face against her hair. She knew he was crying, and she was, too. All the same, she could feel that something was still bothering Ron. Worried, Hermione let him go. 

He gripped her shoulders and held her away from him. She hurriedly wiped away her tears and stared at him, so happy to be near him again that it hurt. A slow smile started across his face, spreading until it became the full-blown Ron grin that she loved. She grinned back up at him, and realized that he was still about fourteen inches taller that her.

"You wouldn't believe how much I missed you," Ron whispered hoarsely, hugging her again. "When I didn't hear from you… I was so worried…" He ran his fingers through her hair, holding her tightly.

"_You_ were worried?" Hermione laughed. "How about _me_? The last I saw of you, was you crumpling with a horrible burn on your head…" She pulled away and ran a finger along the burn scar above his left ear. "And then you didn't write me for _four weeks_!"

Ron squeezed her and let her go. "I'm sorry. Really, I am. They didn't let me out of the hospital until a week before I wrote you, and Mum nearly strapped me into my bed to keep me from straining myself." He ran a thumb under her eye, making her shiver pleasantly.

"Ron, guess what?" Hermione cried, suddenly remembering. "We can go back to school! Hogwarts is opening again! Isn't it marvelous? Everything will be just like it used to be!" She thrilled at her worlds.

For some reason, Ron's face fell. He let go of her completely, stepped away and fell heavily into a chair. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about," he said. "Hermione…" He looked pleadingly up at her. "It's _not _going to be the same as always." Hermione frowned and sat down across from him. 

"What's wrong?" she asked. "I know the security will be tighter, so it'll be harder for you and Harry to break the rules." She grinned. "But the discipline will do you good!" Ron's frown just deepened. "It doesn't upset you _that _much, does it?"

Ron closed his eyes and massaged his temples, as if trying to rid himself of a headache. He opened his eyes and stared at Hermione. "Harry- Harry's gone missing, Hermione," he whispered. "Even his aunt and uncle reported it. Scared the Hell out of them, they came home to find him gone and the Dark Mark burned on their front door." His lips curled into a tiny smile. "Mind you, the only reported it because they thought Harry had trashed their house-" Ron choked, and whispered so quietly that Hermione had to lean in to hear him. "The Dark Mark, Hermione. You know what that means. Oh my God, what are the chances of him being alive…?"

__

Harry? Missing? Hermione's mind was reeling. Ron said something else, but she didn't hear him. The Dark Mark. That meant that Voldemort had either taken Harry or killed him. And if he _had_ taken Harry, he would either try to turn him to darkness, or kill him later. And she knew he would rather die than serve his parents' killer.

"When?" she finally gasped. "When did it happen?"

Ron closed his eyes. "Three weeks ago, exactly." He reached over and took her hand. "Ginny," he whispered. "They took Ginny, too, two days before." He screwed his eyes shut. "What are they going to do to them, Hermione?" He let go of her hand and put his head in his arms. "Why did they have to take Ginny? What did she ever do?" 

Hermione realized he was crying again. But what could she do? She was in total and complete shock. She gripped the side of her chair, trying to break out of the shell around her. She closed her eyes as random thoughts ran around inside her head, slamming into each other and creating general confusion. _Quiet!_ She ordered herself, but it had no effect.

A hand on her shoulder finally jolted her back to reality. Ron had gotten up and was standing behind her, her bags in his hands. Silently, Hermione let him put an arm around her and lead her out of the pub. They walked silently, and came to a halt on a bench behind a few buildings. Hermione shook her head and bring herself to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"I guess it's dumb that I still get like this about it," Ron said quietly. He still had his arm around her. "I've had three weeks to stew about it, after all." He turned and looked off into the distance. "You wouldn't believe how weird things are at my place, Hermione. We never do everything by ourselves. We can't even eat supper together anymore, cause looking at Ginny's empty chair is too hard." Ron tightened his arm around her shoulders, but said no more. She leaned against him, still silent.

It was funny. When she was younger, she cried at the tiniest things, like when Ron and Harry were quarreling in their fourth year, stuff like that. But it seemed that anything big like this would cause her to freeze up, make the blood drain from her face, make the words catch in her throat. It numbed her.

Ron finally looked down at her again. "Are you OK?" he asked gently. "You're awful quiet." Hermione just shook her head and said nothing. Ron frowned. He turned so he was facing her and brushed a few stray hairs away from her face. "I'm sure they're fine, Herms." 

She finally broke the shell, and jumped to her feet, furious. "Like hell, they are!" she shouted at him. "Not five minutes ago you were draped over a table telling me they were as good as dead! Now you go preaching the exact opposite!" She collapsed to her knees, sobbing. "Don't lie to me, Ron…"

He pulled her to her feet and held her as she cried into his shoulder. The anger was ebbing out of her body, leaving a distinctly empty feeling. She leant gratefully against him, and waited for the tears to stop coming.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered finally, pulling away. "I didn't mean it." She wiped her eyes with a sleeve and fell heaily onto the bench. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Ron sat down beside her again. "Nothing's wrong with you," he told her gently. "I told you something bad. It's expected of someone to lose it when they get told something like that." He put a hand on her shoulder and smiled wryly. "God knows I did, more than once. Frankly, I was wondering what was taking you so long."

Hermione would have loved to have laughed, but she couldn't. Instead she asked tentatively, "Do you think they're really OK?"

Ron chewed his lip and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. "I don't know what I think," he told her truthfully. "I don't see how Harry could have evaded You-Know-Who four times without so much as a scratch, and then just get hauled off when security was tightest. It seems to have been too easy for You-Know-Who to take him. You know Harry, and you know he was always careful with stuff like that. You-Know-Who had to have had help finding him." He lifted her chin and made her look at him. "Still, if there is one person who could get out of there alive, it has to be Harry," he whispered. "He's got a better chance than anyone. To tell the truth, it's more Ginny I'm worried about. If they're together she should be fine, but if they got separated…" He let go of her and stood up, leaning against the back of the bench. "I don't think he's out to kill them, Herms. He didn't kill them when he took them, because there were no bodies, and if he had tried to turn them we would have heard something by now. If he were going to kill them, he would have done it already. I think he's using them for something. As bait. I just wish I knew why."

Hermione stared at her friend. Either he'd spent an awful lot of time thinking about it, or he had gotten smarter since she'd seen him last. 

"We should probably get going," Ron said quietly. "I have to catch a Portkey out of here in five minutes. He offered Hermione a hand and pulled her gently out of her seat. "I'm real sorry I didn't write you. I'll try and do better until school starts, OK?"

Hermione swallowed and looked up at him. "I'll see you on the first," she whispered.

He smiled and hugged her. "Better believe you will. I'll look for you at King's Cross, alright? And you'd better be there!" He squeezed her and let her go, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

She grabbed Ron's hand. "Hey," she said. "Stay out of trouble, will you?"

Something of a shadow crossed Ron's face, as if he resented her comment. But it was gone as suddenly as it had come, and he grinned at her. "You don't see me for almost two years and now you're worried about two _weeks_?" He squeezed her hand and kissed her cheek. "I'll see you." He walked back down the alley. After a quick glance at her watch, Hermione decided to start back to the pub. 

'


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The next two weeks were dull, but bearable. True to his word, Ron wrote Hermione nearly every day. His letters never mentioned Harry or Ginny, and she knew that he left them out on purpose, knowing that their disappearance upset her. She was grateful, and tried to return the favour, writing not about old memories, but of her plans for the future, or just conversation. Her parents were happy to see her cheerful again, so they didn't press on the matter of her relationship with Ron.

Actually, Hermione herself wasn't exactly sure about where she and Ron were going. They had been open with each other for a mere two days before the attack before they were separated. During that time period he had kissed her on one occasion, and almost kissed her on a second. Though he had warm, compassionate even, in Diagon Alley, he hadn't really given her any reason to believe they would amount to anything. The recent events had changed them so much, and there was no telling if she might _hate_ him when she got to know him again.

__

Still, she thought, one afternoon,_ if you're going to go on looks alone…_ She grinned to herself, looking back at the photograph Ron had sent with his last letter. Pig was lying winded on the bed, (having hit the wall a moment before) recuperating, and waiting for her to write her reply. Her grin was partly accounted for by Pig, partly by the Ron's picture. It showed him wrestling with one of the twins, (it was impossible to tell which one) outside the Burrow. Apparently, Charlie had taken it on a trip home. There were scads of girls who went for looks first, then worried about personality. She grinned to herself at the prospect. If worst came to worst, she could always try to come to like the person he had become.

The thought of looks- and girls- brought another odd thought into her head. Ron must have dated a bit during the time they were apart. Judging by his current appearance, she didn't think he would have been left alone. There were plenty of sharks out there in the world, and she would have to be careful. _I'll have to ask him about that on the train,_ she thought, then winced. _But that could be horribly embarrassing…_

Hermione looked up at the calendar above her desk. It was August 31st. Tomorrow she would board the train that would take her to Hogwarts. She could see all her old friends again, and teachers. She grinned. _And Ron._ Quickly, she scribbled a short note to him and gave it to Pig, who snatched eagerly, it and somersaulted out the window. She watched him go, laughing. _Crazy bird._ Ten o'clock. She had better go to bed. Tomorrow would be a big day. She yawned and fell onto her bed, and was asleep before she hit the pillow. 

'


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

King's Cross Station was hopping. There were Muggles everywhere, staring at the peculiar children with their massive trunks and odd pets. Looking over at the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Hermione could occasionally see a child of a family disappear into it, all cautious that no one was looking. She kissed her parents goodbye, grabbed her trunk and shoulder bag, and headed for the barrier herself. She carefully "leant" against it, then fell through to platform nine-and-three-quarters. 

If the station was busy, this platform was packed. The crowd was so tight that it made the rest of King's Cross appear deserted. Hermione tried to maneuver through the mob, her eyes scanning for the bright red heads that would tell her where the Weasleys were. She wondered who of the family would be there, since Ginny was missing and the twins had graduated. She let out a string of bad language, and hoped no first-years had heard. How on Earth was she supposed to find them in this mosh pit?

"Hermione! Hermione, over here!"

She looked up. Ron and his mother were waving to her from near a car at the end of the platform. She gathered her bags and began to weave her way through the crowd towards them. Ron met her halfway and relieved her of one of her bags. She hugged him with her free arm, happy to see him again. He put an arm around her shoulders and steered her through the mob to the car where they were supposed to sit. 

Mrs. Weasley threw her arms around Hermione's neck, saying, "Oh, it's so nice to se you again, dear!" Hermione laughed and hugged her back. "It's nice to be back," she replied. 

"We were so worried about you," Ron's mother said tearfully. Ron said you were hurt when You-Know-Who attacked!"

"Ron was hurt worse than me," Hermione retorted. "And then he didn't write me for a month!" Ron looked up from where he was loading the luggage onto the train and pulled a face at her. She grinned back and continued. "I was fine, really. My hair was singed, that's all." Mrs. Weasley hugged her again and pushed her onto the train. Ron offered a hand and pulled her in. They walked down the corridor to find an empty compartment, and sat down.

"This is the sixth-year car," Hermione said to Ron. "We're seventeen, shouldn't we be seventh-years?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "We missed our sixth year, so we're a year behind. We have to do it now."

She sighed and stared out the window. "So we'll graduate when we're eighteen, just like Muggles in high school." She massaged her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache at the question broiling within her. She was almost afraid to ask; worried that she wouldn't like the answer. It wasn't even that loaded a question, but the potential was there for explosion. She decided she might as well know the truth. Going over it in her mind, Hermione altered the question to sound more innocent than it was intended. She took a deep breath and asked, "So, what did you do over the last year?"

Ron looked up sharply, a suspicious look on his face. Hermione winced and bit her lip, but persisted. 

"Sat around the house, mostly," he said. "We also did a lot of stuff in Ottery St. Catchpole, the Muggle town near our house. You don't know how _boring_ life is until you have nothing to do. For a while, I was de-gnomeing the garden twice a day, just for something to do. Dad taught me a few little charms. All in all, not much."

Hermione swallowed. How was she to word this? "Did you date at all?"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, one girl called Ashley. Followed me around the village like a puppy for weeks. That was a year ago, though. How about you?"

She blinked. "Me? Oh, I did some schoolwork and-"

"I meant did you date at all, silly," Ron cut her off. "I _know_ you did schoolwork."

She laughed, then chewed her lip. "Er, yeah. Two guys, Mark and Evan. But- that was a while ago, too." She noticed that Ron was looking at her very intensely, and felt a blush creep into her cheeks, embarrassing her even more. She looked away.

Ron was inching closer. By now, he was close enough to be horribly nervous around anyone else, but somehow, with Ron, it was very pleasant. She blushed even pinker and backed into her chair, trying to calm herself.

"Did you kiss any of them?" Ron asked lightly. "I mean, if you go out with them, you're probably going to kiss them, right?"

Hermione glanced up, frowning. Ron's tone was far too casual to be natural. "Er… yeah. Sort of."

He grinned at her. "Who was better?"

She blushed again, and looked away. "I- I don't really know… Evan, I guess…" She trailed off.

Suddenly, Ron leaned over and kissed her firmly on the mouth. Unfortunately, before Hermione could get over the shock and enjoy it a little, he pulled away. "You dated _me_ for a couple of days," he reminded her. "Where would I fit in?"

She shook her head violently to clear it of the giddy disorientation, then glared at him. "You could have warmed me!" she scolded.

Ron grinned, inching closer to her again. "I said the same thing, once, and you told me not to bother. So, where do I stand?"

He was getting _very_ close. _I will _not_ lose my head,_ Hermione told herself firmly. "Er… I don't know. You- you kind of pulled away before I could really tell…" A piece of hair fell into her face and Ron gently pushed it back behind her ear. 

"Is that so?" he asked quietly. He leaned in and kissed her again, but this time he didn't pull back right away. Hermione's stomach fluttered as she felt Ron's hand creep up to cup her face. _Definitely better than Evan,_ she thought giddily.

"Why is it every time I see you two, you're getting close?" Draco Malfoy was standing in the door of the compartment, watching them. For some reason, though, his usual smugness was absent, replaced by an expression that just said he was irritable. Hermione and Ron broke apart quickly and Hermione felt her cheeks burn with humiliation as Ron got up and stood in front of Malfoy. 

"Maybe if you waited until you were invited, you wouldn't have that problem," Ron told Malfoy. "Now why don't you take a hike?"

Malfoy scowled. "I actually came here with a purpose, for your information. I need to talk to Hermione."

She stared at him. Ron wasn't the only one who had changed. Malfoy had acquired a kind of angry sensuality, like he ought to be playing the moody hero of some soap opera. Plus, he wasn't making any smart remarks. One would simply have thought he was in a bad mood. This was not the Draco Malfoy she had last seen two Christmases ago. "What?" she asked, bewildered.

Ron cast her a suspicious look, but Malfoy just said, "You heard me. I need to talk to you. Come out into the hall or something."

She frowned, but got up and followed him into the hallway. Ron raised an eyebrow, but made no move to stop her. She closed the door behind them, and looked at Malfoy expectantly.

He just glared at her for a moment. "I just wanted to tell you- y'know on that last Hogsmeade trip- when I was an asshole to you- I'm sorry about what I said. I didn't mean it." He seemed to glower at his words for a moment, then turned and stalked down the train, looking snappish. Shaking her head, Hermione walked back into the compartment and flopped back into her seat.

"What did he want?" Ron asked.

"I have no idea," Hermione replied. "But I'm willing to bet that by the time we get to the castle, everyone will know what we were doing."

Ron made a face. "Heaven forbid," he muttered. 

'


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

After so many months of having to imagine teachers and demonstrations in front of her while reading a book, it was wonderful for Hermione to be back in classes again. Ron laughed at her, of course, as she danced happily from class to class, savoring the feeling of books weighing down her shoulders once more. There were a lot of things she understood about Ron, but his lack of enthusiasm towards schoolwork wasn't one of them. 

Professor Dumbledore, it seemed, was taking no chances with his students' safety. He had taken up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts personally, and was teaching some very interesting classes. 

It seemed that a year and a half of having to mingle with Muggles had taken their toll on wizarding culture. Hermione noticed a lot of Muggle clothing being worn under the uniform robes, Muggle novels being read, even Muggle electrical equipment being tampered with in spare time. Several fourth-year students were trying to develop a Discman that would run on magic instead of electricity. While they hadn't been very successful, it was interesting to watch them fiddle with it in the Gryffindor common room.

Much to Hermione's disappointment, Ron remained simply friendly to her. Forward as he might have been on the train, he pretty much left her alone at school, almost avoiding her. He spent his time with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, and Hermione was left to find company in Lavender Brown and the Patil twins, all of whom annoyed her. She finally gave up and just spent her time doing homework and extra credit.

She was coming back from a late night in the library, working on a paper for Arithmancy. Glaring at the irrepressible Mrs. Norris as she stared up at her from her lamp-like eyes. Dancing out of the way as Peeves streaked down the hallway throwing things. She walked up to the portrait hole and muttered the password ("sow's ear") and climbed through into the common room. 

Since it was late (around eleven o'clock), Hermione didn't really expect anyone to still be up and around. But, as she made her way to her favourite chair by the fire, she noticed someone sitting in the bay window, the moonlight glinting off his red hair. "Ron?"

He turned slowly, not surprised to see her coming back so late, and watched her for a moment. She fidgeted under his gaze, uncomfortable, and pulled the hem of her shirt, which had wedged itself up under her books, back down past her navel. "What are you still doing up?" she asked.

"I'm allowed to be awake," he said dully. "It's Saturday." His eyes were flat and emotionless, the usual spark of green gone from their depths, and they followed Hermione as she sat down in her chair. 

She shifter her books onto her lap as she sat, looking at Ron with concern. He was watching her the way Professor Moody used to watch Harry; a creepy way. "Are you OK?" she asked cautiously. 

Ron's face instantly lost the emotionless look, and he turned away. But not before Hermione could see the pained look that had crossed it. Without speaking, he pulled a crumpled envelope out of his bookbag and tossed it to her. Frowning, she unfolded the letter and read.

__

Mr. Weasley,

We understand your concern for your friend, but we fear that sending out a search party at this time would not be safe. Even while our community is allowed to fraternize, to go wandering about looking for trouble would not be wise. Please be assured that the instant we feel it is safe, we will go looking for Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley.

Yours in fellowship,

Wolfgang Boozier

Head of Magical Law Enforcement

"What do they mean?" Hermione asked, flabbergasted. "They're not going after them?"

Ron stared moodily at the table for a moment before answering. "No," he snapped finally. "They say it's not _safe_. And as if leaving Harry and Ginny in the clutches of You-Know-Who _is_?" He pounded the table with a fist. "Assholes! If it weren't for Harry, we wouldn't have been _safe_ all those thirteen years before, either! And they won't even take one f***ing risk to save him!"

"Ron!" Hermione had never liked swearing, and tonight was no exception. "I'm sure they have a good reason!"

Ron's head shot up and he glared at her, his eyes snapping with fury. "There _is _no good reason! Don't you care?" he demanded. "Don't you _care_ at _all_ if something happens to Harry? Or Ginny? My God, he's your best f***ing friend! The least you can do is hope someone helps him!" 

"Ron, calm down!" she cried desperately. He had been yelling. "You'll wake everybody up!"

"Calm down? _Calm down?!_ You expect me to be _calm_?"

"Ron, they'll look, OK? It's just too dangerous right now!"

He stopped very suddenly and shook her by the shoulders, causing her to see stars. "What's the matter with you, Hermione? Good Lord, first it was Harry's broom, then it was Scabbers and Crookshanks, and now this!" He stared intensely at her and she could feel his anger. And, at the same time, his desperation. "You really don't care, do you?" he whispered. "You really don't give damn. You _have _changed." He shook his head and walked up the stairs to the boys' dorm, leaving behind a very stunned Hermione. 

'

__

Black, everywhere. Look left- black. Look right- black. Up, down- black. There were no sounds, no smells, no tastes, nothing. She knew she was dreaming, for some reason, though not what about. Aside from the general knowledge that she was asleep, was one pressing thought. Find Harry. Find Ginny. Find them! Find them!_ The blackness was closing in, like a thick, velvet blanket. She couldn't breath…_

"Yah!" Hermione opened her eyes and flipped over, feeling the covers twist around her body. Her face had been pressed into her pillow, thus cutting off her air. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, chest heaving, trying to catch her breath, then attempted to wriggle out of the cocoon of bedclothes she had created. Something about the dream jumped out at her. It was the same feeling she got from the dream about the dance. Such dreams lacked the unreal feeling of a normal nightmare, as if she were really there. And something told her it had something to do with Harry.

"I'm going crazy," she muttered to herself. "I'm going absolutely, positively out of my skull." She walked to the bathroom and splashed some water on her face, then stared at her reflection in the mirror. Was Ron right? Had she changed that much?

__

But I'm worried about Harry! she told herself. _And I don't want anything to happen to him! But I understand the Ministry's point of view, too._ She gripped the edge of the sink as tears began to well up in her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. _Oh, why did he have to say what he did?_ With a sigh, she wiped her face off with a towel and walked back to her room and fell into her bed. _Let it be better in the morning._

'


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The next morning was _not_ any better than the night before, rested as Hermione might have been after a night of sleep. When she sat down next to Ron at breakfast, hoping to make peace, he simply got up and walked in the opposite direction. They were increasingly sour to each other all day, to the point where she was actually glad to see him turn up toward the Divination tower in the last period of the day. At least she wouldn't have to feel his eyes on the back of her head all through class.

Hermione usually scorned Divination, thinking inaccurate and a waste of time. Arithmancy, though a form of divination, was much more logical. The equation she was working on that day was the first one she would ever use for divinatory purpose, instead of just practice. She could feel the power in the numbers even as she wrote them down and worked them out.

__

What is bothering Ron? She asked the numbers. Professor Vector had told them to ask a simple question, and she supposed that was simple enough. But the number sentences she wrote out were long and complicated. _Six. A number of treachery. Five. Confusion. Seven and three together. Love and worry, rolled into one. Ten. Happiness. Four. Anger. _The numbers contradicted themselves. 

Professor Vector leaned over Hermione's shoulder and scanned her completed sheet. "What question did you ask?" she inquired.

"Ron's being a jerk," Hermione replied quietly. "I asked what was bothering him."

The professor ran her finger over the sheet, frowning. "He's got something very good in his life, and he's worried about what might happen to it. He's willing to take risks to protect it. A background of suspicion. He doesn't know what's causing all of this, but it looks like he's linked to it." She picked up the sheet. You did all your equations correctly. Full marks." Professor Vector smiled quietly at her student. "Next time ask a simpler question."

Coming out of class, Hermione overheard two Ravenclaw girls talking. "Did you hear?" "Yeah, they did the test this afternoon." Curious, she walked up to them. "What's going on?"

"The Weasley boy," one of the girls informed her. "He lied to Professor Snape about his homework today. Snape lost his temper and put a truth spell on him after class. But he could still lie."

Hermione blinked. She hadn't thought that to be possible. "Really? How?"

The other girl shrugged. "They don't know. They just know he can lie like a rug."

She stared. "But- that's impossible! Snape can't have used a very powerful charm."

The first Ravenclaw shook her head. "He didn't. But in the test, they used the most powerful one they could think of. And he broke it." The two girls turned and walked away.

Hermione walked slowly down the stairs, thinking hard. She had never heard of anything like this, in all her studies. 

When she reached the common room, the first thing she saw was Ron, surrounded by a multitude of people- mostly girls. She stood beside the portrait hole for a moment, and just watched him. His stance reminded her of when she had met up with him at the Leaky Cauldron; intimidated. 

Ron turned, seeing her for the first time. The pleading look he shot her almost made her melt on the spot. Her mind flashed back to the Arithmancy lesson. _Worry. Suspicion._ The urge to go over and rescue him was almost overwhelming. She shook her head violently, and walked up the tall staircase to the girls' dorm. Something- an emotion she had never experienced- was keeping her from helping Ron. And from forgiving him. Something deep inside her wouldn't allow her to be compassionate, and she thought she knew what it was; bitterness. She couldn't forgive him for what he had said the night before.

Hermione's mind suddenly flashed back to that fateful afternoon in a Hogsmeade alley. She remembered how he had kissed her.

__

Nothing in the world could have prepared Hermione for that. She didn't hear or say anything, but was fiercely aware of any place she and Ron touched, from his hand, still on her face, to his hand on her back to her own arms braced against his chest, so she could feel his heart beating against her hand. He was holding her like she was made of a fairy's wing, barely touching her, as if she would tear if he was at all forceful with her. Without knowing what she was doing, she slipped her arms up around his neck and tremblingly returned his gentle kiss. She felt a tiny loose lock of his red hair between her fingers, and vaguely noticed that a few people had stuck their heads into the alley, drawn by the commotion, only to stop and quiet themselves, and take in the scene before them. She thought she could feel a tiny sensation of emotion emanating from Ron, in a way she couldn't quite place. He loves you_, a voice in her head told her. _And you love him, too, admit it!

__

But, if I love him, why can't I forgive him? Hermione's mind cried. _And that was nearly two years ago! So much has changed since then!_

Her mother's words ran in her ears, reminding her of an old conversation, during the long afternoons of the past year. _"If it makes you mad, it's not love"_ she had told her. _"Love, _real_ love will make you happy enough to forgive anyone of anything."_ Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted so much to love Ron. Why couldn't she? 

'


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Hermione's week after that day was one of the worst weeks she had lived in her life (not counting the anguished weeks she had spent waiting for Ron's letter after the dance). She couldn't remember the last time she had been so angry at him, or, at the same time, so worried. When they fought, usually, it was for a good reason, and she could keep him out of her mind. But this time, it was like she was waging an internal war; half of her wanted to throw her arms around his neck and apologize and make everything all right. The other half simply wanted to kill him. And she was so worried about him.

By Friday, she felt almost consumed. She hadn't really talked to anyone for a week. Sitting down for breakfast on Saturday morning, though, she noticed a group of fifth years clustered around a copy of the Daily Prophet, and was reminded unpleasantly of Rita Skeeter's escapades in her fourth year. She picked up her copy of the paper and scanned the front page. It was the usual: "Fudge loses game for International Quidditch Cup," "No word on the location of Harry Potter; Ministry refuses to disclose details" (her throat caught on this one, but she had seen it's like many times before), but nothing out of the ordinary. Then her eyes were drawn to a small feature in the bottom corner of the page: "Suspicion grows around Weasley". Curious, she read it.

__

Ronald Weasley, aged seventeen, found earlier this week to be capable of breaking any truth spell or potion, has been rumored to have helped the Dark Lord to find and capture Harry Potter. Ironically, Mr. Potter is Mr. Weasley's alleged best friend, though the two have not seen each other since the incident two Christmases ago. 

Hermione gaped. And it wasn't even Rita Skeeter who had written the article. She looked around the table for Ron, and saw him staring at his breakfast with a grimace painted across his features. Several people were looking at him very strangely, others flat out glaring. Once again, the old feeling of wanting to help Ron bubbled up inside her, and she strained to keep it down. _If he hadn't lied about his homework in the first place, none of this would have happened,_ said that horrible, reasonable voice. _Shut up!_ The other shot back. _Look at him. He looks as though he hasn't seen sunlight for days!_ She watched him push his oatmeal around in the bowl, looking sick. 

Ron must have sensed her gaze, because, at that moment, he glanced up and looked straight at her, his brown eyes green-tinted with desperation. He searched Hermione's face, as if trying to see how she would take this, but she looked away, got up and left the table.

Hermione hurried out of the Great Hall to the common room, desperate not to see Ron for the rest of the day. _I'm going mad,_ she told herself. She had been having the dream about the blackness every night, too, just to add to everything. She thought that if she got six hours of sleep in one night, it would be a miracle. She reached the portrait hole and climbed through, desperately wracking her brain for something to do that day. Something- _anything_- to keep her mind off Ron.

She finally gave up and went to the library, intent on reading something. It was her usual solution for situations like this. When in doubt, read. 

It had to have been ten hours before Hermione heard anyone come into the library. She had skipped lunch, and had read six books since breakfast. At around seven o'clock that evening, though, she heard someone walking in her direction. She looked up and, to her horror, saw Ron picking his way through the tables, chairs and shelves towards her.

Hermione was just about to get up and leave when Ron reached her, and he put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently back into her seat. "Not yet," he told her quietly. "I have to talk to you."

"What do you want?" Hermione snapped, more angrily than she had meant to. She bit her lip as Ron winced. Why on Earth couldn't she find a reason to be nice to him?

Ron's hand was still on her shoulder, holding her in her seat, as though he knew how she ached to get up and run away. "I'm assuming you saw the little article in the _Prophet_ this morning, judging by how you're avoiding me," he said quietly, a hint of sourness in his otherwise flat voice. "Not that your absence is anything unusual, these days." She narrowed her eyes and listened, impatient, as he continued. She could feel something weird, coming from the point where his hand touched her shoulder. "I just wanted to   
say-"

But Hermione was done listening. If she didn't get out of here, she would lose her mind. She jumped up and felt the chair fall to the floor at her feet. "I don't want to know!" she cried. "You are an ass, Ron Weasley! I don't want to talk to you! Leave me alone!"

"Hermione!" Ron scampered after her, through the chairs to the door. "Hey! I have to tell you!"

"I don't care!" she cried desperately. "I don't want to know!" She dodged a cart full of books and almost ran down the librarian.

"Hermione!" Ron took the opportunity and grabbed her by the shoulders. "I'm sorry, OK? I didn't mean what I said that night. You have to hear me out, Hermione!" She looked up and saw that his eyes were greener than ever, and seemed to be glowing. _They look like kiwi slices,_ she realized. _Brown around the edges, bright green in the middle, then flecks of black right in the center._ She shook her head and pulled away from him. 

"Let me go," she whispered. "If you can lie through any truth charm, how am I supposed to tell whether or not you're lying to _me_?"

Hermione knew she shouldn't have said that the instant the last word escaped her lips. Ron's face fell and let go of her. She turned just slowly enough to hear him say fiercely, "_Get out,_" and walked- almost ran- back to the common room and collapsed, drained into bed. She was still wearing all her clothes. 

'


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Hermione yelped and sat up straight. She had dreamt about the black again. God, how she hated that dream. She glanced at the clock. It was one in the morning. She groaned. 

Something papery collided with Hermione's fingers as she tried to straighten her pillow. She dislodged it from between the mattress and headboard and unfolded it. A note. Quickly, she turned on the lamp beside her bed and instantly recognized Ron's messy scrawl:

__

Hey

More than angry words

I hate this silence.

It's getting so loud.

Well I want to scream, 

But bitterness has silenced these emotions.

It's getting hard to breathe.

So tell me, isn't happiness

Worth more than a golden diamond ring?

I'm willing to do anything

To calm this storm in my heart.

I've never been the praying kind,

But lately I've been down upon my knees.

Not looking for a miracle,

Just a reason to believe.

He hadn't signed it, but she knew it was from Ron. She bit her lip, recognizing the song. It was by one of her favourite Muggle band, Savage Garden. 

__

God, how am I supposed to get back to sleep now? Hermione wondered. Her stomach emitted a low growl, and she realized that she had forgotten about dinner as well as lunch. With a sigh, she rolled out of bed and pulled a pair of flannel pants on under her short nightdress. She was glad it was Saturday. She didn't know what she would have done if she had had to go to classes that morning. She plodded silently down the stairs to the common room, and was surprised to see a small fire burning in the hearth. 

Ron was sitting on a couch by the fireplace, drawing in a small notebook. He looked pale and tired. She froze when she saw him, and was just about to turn and run in the opposite direction when he looked up and saw her. 

"What are you doing up?" Hermione asked quietly. She winced, expecting a sharp reply, but none came. 

"Couldn't sleep," Ron answered, equally quiet. "I must be getting sick or something." He put down his sketch pad, careful that the side with the picture was down, and looked expectantly at her. "Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to come and sit down?"

Hermione bit her lip and shuffled uncomfortably over to the chair, and sat down across from him. She felt so defeated she couldn't even come up with a smart remark. "What do you want?" she asked quietly. 

"I wanted to finish telling you what I started earlier," he said, almost whispering. "I'm really, really sorry about what I said to you, OK? I lost my temper and said some stuff I didn't mean. I understand why the Ministry's not looking for Harry and Ginny, I just don't like it." He swallowed and looked her straight in the eye, and she flinched. "I'm sorry, Hermione. God, I am so sorry."

Something in his voice just told her that Ron wasn't lying. His eyes were very bright as he looked at her. "It's as much my fault as yours," she told him. "Don't – don't feel so bad about it."

"It was my fault," Ron said firmly. "I lost my temper and bit your head off. You were perfectly rational and fair." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand and silenced her. "_And_ I refused to let myself forgive you."

"_I_ wouldn't let myself forgive _you_," Hermione retorted. "Every time I thought about saying sorry, I yelled at myself. At least you made the first move." 

"You had nothing to apologize for," he disagreed. "You did nothing wrong."

"But I saw you," she said. "You wanted to make peace and I wouldn't listen. It's my fault, too."

She stopped when she noticed Ron looking at her again. "The things we argue about," he said quietly, amused. "Fine. We're both to blame. Truce?"

What little anger Hermione had felt until then evaporated. She allowed a small smile as she shook Ron's hand. "Truce. What were you drawing, by the way?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "You don't want to know," he told her.

"Now you've got e curious," she retorted. "Come on, Ron."

With a shake of his head, Ron picked up the book and held it out to her. She gasped when she saw it: a dagger, in perfect proportion and scale, so detailed she could see it's sharpness and the drops of blood running down its blade. "I didn't know you were an artist," she whispered. The picture was so good it scared her. 

"Neither did I until last June," Ron replied with a slight grin. "I doodled a garden gnome one afternoon, and realized it was good." He closed the sketchbook and put it back on the table. "Hermione…"

She looked back at him to see that his eyes were brighter than ever. "That's not the only reason I needed to talk to you," he whispered. 

"What else do you need to say?" she whispered. Something in his voice made her think that he was going to say something important. She leaned closer to hear him.

"I- On the train coming here- I hope I didn't offend you," he whispered. "I was kind of- er- forward, shall we say. More than I usually would have been if I had been thinking." 

He paused, and she waited expectantly for him to continue. He took a deep breath and began talking again, so quietly she could barely hear him. "But that doesn't mean that- that I didn't mean it, Hermione." 

Hermione's heart fluttered in anticipation of what Ron was going to say next. _God, let him say it,_ she prayed. Ron took a deep breath, swallowed hard and finally blurted out. "I- I think- I think I'm in love with you, Hermione."

That had not been what she was expecting. "What?" she asked, shocked. 

Ron blushed, more with shame than embarrassment. "You heard me," he whispered. 

"No, no, no, that's not what I meant," she cried. "I just- you have no idea how long I've- how long I've been waiting to hear that, Ron."

He looked at her intensely. "You mean that?" he asked quietly, inching closer to her on the couch. "You're not going to slap me?"

Hermione almost laughed. "Slap you? Ron, I've been waiting to hear you say that since, oh, I don't know, the Yule Ball!"

Ron was so close to her now that she could feel his breath on her face, warm and soft. "If I kissed you now," he asked. "What would you do to me?" He gently reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, making her shiver pleasantly. 

"Nothing," she whispered, her heart fluttering like a golden snitch in her chest. Ron looked her straight in the eye for half a second, the leaned in all the way and kissed her softly. 

Oh, she could have stayed like that forever. Ron's hand left her face and slid down to circle her waist, and she ran her hands up his chest and around his neck, letting him hold her tightly. Everything- from the feel of his lips on hers, the faint taste of mint from his toothpaste, to the way his arms tightened around her almost protectively- felt perfect in a way she hadn't thought possible. She broke away for a moment to draw a breath before Ron pulled her back, kissing her with an almost desperate manner. 

He finally pulled away, and let out a long sigh into her hair before pulling back to get a good look at her. "I love you Hermione," he whispered, pulling her closer as he leaned back on the couch.

Hermione smiled at him quietly, happily, snuggling against him. Maybe she _could _survive this mess, so long as she had Ron to look after her. "I know," she whispered. And once again, something deep inside her told her that he wasn't lying. 

'


	10. Chapter 9

Part Two

Chapter Nine

Hermione's eyes snapped open. She had dreamed about the black _again_. Plus, she had dreamed about Ron being dragged away again, and she hadn't had that dream since July. She looked around wildly for a moment, not knowing where she was. Then she felt Ron's arms tighten around her, and heard him calling her name. 

"Hermione! Hey, wake up!"

"What?" She tried to sit up, but Ron held her back. "I- sorry. Was I talking in my sleep?" She realized that her forehead was sweaty and hastily wiped it off.

Ron looked down at her with concern. "You were pretty quiet, but you were squirming an awful lot, like you were trying to see something." He wiped away a tear (_where did that come from? _Hermione thought) off her cheek and turned her to face him. "You were whispering something by the end. I don't know what it was you said, but it sounded pretty much like 'no' and 'please'."

Hermione shuddered. _That _sounded familiar all right. Why did she have to have that damned dream all the time?

"What did you dream about?" Ron asked. 

Hermione winced. "I don't know," she replied. "I mean- I know what I saw and everything, but I can't figure out exactly _what_ it was." She shuddered. "Everything was black, Ron. I couldn't see anything, or hear anything or anything."

Ron stroked her hair comfortingly. "It's OK," he whispered. "It's just a dream. Hey, you're shaking."

"It's _not_ just a dream," Hermione whispered. "I don't know, Ron, it was real, I know it was." She shivered involuntarily. "It has something to do with Harry."

He pulled away from her. "Harry? You're sure?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "No, I'm not sure," she said, almost snappishly. Ron looked hurt and she felt tears welling up in her eyes. "Oh my God, Ron. I don't know what's going on with me. I've been having weird dreams for so long. I'm going insane."

Ron took her face in his hands and made her look at him. "What do you mean?" he asked. "How long has this been going on?"

Hermione let out a ragged breath. "I don't know. I was dreaming about the dance every night for most of last spring and summer. It was so horrible, Ron. I couldn't get it out of my head. I was afraid to fall asleep." She longed to tell him the part about watching him be dragged away, but couldn't bring herself to do so. "What's happening to me?" she whispered.

Ron's eyes were very bright as he looked at her. "Hermione," he whispered in a tortured voice. His eyes seared her face, as if looking for the cause of her pain, and finding nothing. He finally looked her in the eye again, then drew her close and kissed her softly.

Hermione trembled in Ron's arms as he held her, his mouth against hers. He was so gentle, and she could feel his love for her, tingling and unfolding through her body in a comforting manner. He pulled away and looked at her, then stood up and helped her to her feet. 

"We should get back up to our rooms before people start coming down," he said quietly. "It'll be time for breakfast soon. We have to just pretend nothing happened…"

She smiled then, slightly, in anticipation of what the next few days would bring. She had been waiting to hear Ron say that he loved her for so long. But she knew that now was not the time to go walking around holding hands and the like. He led her to the foot of her stairs and hugged her. 

"I'll see you at breakfast," he whispered to her, then let her go and walked up his own stairs to the boys' dorm. Hermione hugged her chest, cold all of a sudden. She longed to tell Ron she loved him. "Ron," she called after him.

He turned at the top stair. "Yes?"

She took a deep breath. "I-" But her voice caught in her throat. "Good night, Ron," she finally whispered, then turned and ran up the remaining stairs to her dorm and fell into bed. 

'


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"Hermione!"

She thought she could hear someone calling her, but she didn't care. She had had the nicest dream. Ron had finally said he loved her…

"Hermione, wake up! You'll miss breakfast!"

__

Oh my God. She sat up straight and almost knocked Parvati over. _Last night_… It hadn't been a dream. "Sorry," she called to Parvati, as she danced out of bed and towards the bathroom to brush her teeth. 

When she saw Ron later at the breakfast table, Hermione's heart leaped. He looked up and smiled at her, but shook his head. _Remember,_ she told herself. _Now is not the time. Keep it private for now. _She smiled back and continued eating. Today, though, the food tasted so much sweeter.

She met up again with Ron that evening, after dinner. She had spent the day with the Patils and Lavender, actually tolerating their presence for the first time in years. She bumped into Ron (literally!) coming around the greenhouses.

"I need to talk to you," he said the instant he saw her, without stopping for formalities. Lavender shot a more-than-friendly glance in his direction, but he ignored it. He took Hermione's arm and led her over to a bench that sat by the side of the lake, and they sat down.

"Yes?" Hermione asked. "Is everything OK?"

Ron hesitated, then sighed and put an arm around her shoulders. "You read the article about the 'suspicion' around me, didn't you?" he asked quietly. She nodded. "I- I'm not so sure it's rumors," he said, turning to look at her. "I think I must have caught your insanity or something, but the 'rumors' sound like they could be true."

"What?" Hermione stared at him. "What do you mean? You _have_ been helping You-Know-Who?"

Ron winced, then answered. "I can't remember much about the days around when Harry and Ginny went missing," he whispered. "I'm all muddled up, Hermione. If I try and think about it, my thoughts stray." He looked up and smiled wryly. "Somehow, I get the idea that's not normal."

"But- how could you be?" she asked, bewildered. "You're not exactly the type to go off betraying your best friend. Besides, there's nothing that says it was you."

Ron sighed and stared at the ground. "But that's just the thing. If _I _didn't help him, who did? My family are the only people who know where Harry lives. How else could You-Know-Who have found him?"

Hermione scoffed. "You're not the only ones that know where he lives," she said confidently. "_I _know where he lives."

Ron looked up, eyebrow raised. "Yeah? Where, then?"

"He lives in Surrey," Hermione answered matter-of-factly. "See?"

Ron opened his mouth to say something snide, then closed it. "He lives at number four Privet Drive in Little Whinging, in Surrey," he said. "And only Fred, George and I know how to get there." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "See what I mean? And I'm so damned confused about the days around when they went missing. Mom says I was in shock, but what if I wasn't? Oh, God, Hermione, what if it was a memory charm? What if I did?"

Hermione chewed on her lip. What Ron was saying made sense- almost. But she knew Ron would never sell Harry to Voldemort. He was too- too _good_ for that. Wasn't he?

__

I'm going nuts, Hermione said to herself for about the tenth time that week. _Of course Ron would never do that! What am I thinking?_ She shook her head, desperate to clear it of the treacherous thoughts flooding through it, and told herself again and again that it couldn't be true. It couldn't possibly be true. _Oh, yeah?_ that voice said again. _Remember in Arithmancy, when you did that weird equation with all the guilt and suspicion? Professor Vector said that Ron was linked to the conflict! _

"Shut up!" Hermione cried suddenly, before she could stop herself.

"What?" Ron looked up again, a frown sharpening his features.

"Nothing," she whispered. "Sorry."

Ron massaged his forehead. "I don't know," he said finally. "Maybe I am nuts. It's just too _weird._ And ever since we met Harry, weird stuff seems to follow us around."

Hermione smiled at him. "Well," she said quietly. "I'm already nuts. You won't be short on company."

He grinned at her and put an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "I don't know what I would do without you to keep me sane," he teased her. On a more serious note, he added, "Thank you for listening to me. I needed to let that out."

She frowned and ran her thumb along his burn scar. "How long has it been bothering you?" she asked. 

Ron sighed. "About a week, give or take a few days." He put a hand gently on her cheek and pulled her so close that their noses were almost touching. Hermione put her arms around his neck and hugged him, sensing his need for comfort. His arms tightened around her waist, and she could feel one of his hands run up her back, returning to her face. He pulled away from her, then leaned in and kissed her deeply.

For the first time, Hermione actually found herself kissing Ron back. She shivered as his mouth moved over hers, filling her with happiness. His hand slid around to the back of her neck and entangled itself in her hair; he pulled her even closer.

Hermione started, suddenly realizing that her mouth was open, and that Ron was taking advantage of that. She almost pulled away, then decided that she liked the feeling she got from his kisses. Ron shifted so he was pressing her into the back of the bench, and she tightened her arms around his neck. God, how she loved him…

Something- she wasn't sure what- was giving her a feeling of uneasiness. She realized she could feel some kind of emotion radiating from Ron. She could feel his anxiety and worry, the deep-seated terror at all that was happening around him. She couldn't read his thoughts, no, but she could _sense_ what was going on in his head. She jumped. 

Ron pulled away, his breath ragged. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. 

Hermione blinked. "For what?" she asked, still stunned by what she had just encountered.

He frowned. "I- I went too far," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have come on so   
strong-" He stopped as Hermione put a hand over his mouth to shush him. 

"You didn't do anything wrong," she said quietly. "I'm not mad at you." She shivered as Ron ran a finger under her eye and around her ear, through her hair. She could still feel it, though fainter, now, and tinted with shame and resentment. But as he smiled, and pulled her to him again, and kissed her, she felt these emotions all but evaporate, leaving behind one simple thought- love. 

'


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Hermione looked around her frantically. Why was it always so black here? Her hands reached in front of her, looking for something- anything! She was about to give up when her fingers brushed something. She gasped and took a step towards it. Sure enough, she collided squarely with a wall. It was disgusting- damp, slimy and cold- but it was a wall, and it was more than she usually got.

Stopping for a deep breath, Hermione strained to hear or see something. It was no use; still black. Wait! She thought she could hear something, far away. She turned and shuffled in the direction of the noise, following the wall.

Was that singing? Hermione moved a little bit closer. She gasped. It was Ginny's voice, a smooth, clear soprano. And she was singing.

__

"Awaken, breathe

Hear the calling in the wind.

A voice, it's saying

A journey must begin.

We'll fly, like a bird

In a scattered cloudy sky

Leave aside the city worries,

It's just a minute away…"

There! Around the corner, she could just see a tiny light. She hurried towards it, still following the sound of Ginny's singing.

__

"In my heart, I'll paint a picture

And I swear, it's where I'll be…

I shall be there

Will you be there?

I shall be there

Will you be there, too?"

Hermione's outstretched hands touched something wooden. The light she had seen wasn't as far away as she had thought it had been. Her fingers crept down until they touched a handle. A door. She tried the latch, but it was locked. Standing on tiptoe, she looked into the tiny window where the light was coming from. And she almost screamed.

There, sitting in a tiny, cramped cell, were Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. Harry was asleep, or looked like he was, and Ginny was sitting next to him, stroking his hair and singing. The moonlight from the small, barred window near the ceiling cast a beam of silvery light across Harry's pale and Ginny's equally pale hand. They both looked overly thin, and their clothes were stained and torn. 

__

"Come on and look, in silence

Believe in what you see

(In a place, like this)

The starry skies can move the mountains

The sun will warm the sea…"

Hermione tried to call "Ginny!" but no sound came out. She knocked hard on the door, but it was silent. _No,_ she thought desperately. _They have to hear me!_ She tried to scream. Nothing happened. 

__

"In my heart, I'll paint a picture

And I swear, it's where I'll be, ooh

I shall be there

Will you be there?

I shall be there

Will you be there, too?

She thought she could hear someone calling her, from deep at the other and of the hallway. It sounded like Lavender. _Go away, Lavender,_ she thought. _Please! They need to hear me!_ The scene around her faded, and she felt as though she was falling. 

"Hermione!"

Her eyes snapped open and she stared up at Lavender's concerned face. Lavender stopped shaking her and said, "Thank God! I thought you'd never wake up!"

"What?" Hermione tried to sit up, but found that she couldn't move very well. "Lavender, I can't move!"

Lavender smiled then, almost knowingly. "Lie still, honey," she said. "You'll be fine in a moment. What did you dream about?"

She closed her eyes. "Harry and Ginny. I dreamed they were in a little cell." She stared up at Lavender, almost pleadingly. "Why?"

Lavender chewed her lip and sat down on the edge of the bed. "You know I'm very interested in Divination," she said, and Hermione tried not to snort. "And don't scoff," Lavender reprimanded. "I studied it a lot over the past year, the older methods. Tarot cards, scrying, runes. And astral projection."

"Astral- what?" Hermione was bewildered.

"Projection," Lavender said. "The practice of separating one's soul from their body to see something in either the past, present or future."

Hermione frowned. "I was dead?" she cried.

Lavender laughed gently. "No, love," she said soothingly. "Your body still worked. But _you_ were not in it. Harry and Ginny, did you say? In a cell? Did you see anything else?"

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "I walked down a really long hallway first," she said. "And when I tried to call them, they couldn't hear me."

Her friend looked at her. "I don't think you saw the future," she said. "I think it was the present. You know, Professor Trelawney said you didn't have much of a psychic aura, but I think she might have been wrong. It was all over you when you were asleep."

Hermione's mind flashed back to when Ron had kissed her, how she had felt his thoughts. "Psychic?" she asked. "Me? But I was a washout in Divination."

Lavender smiled and appeared to be deep in thought. "We did a lot of work with divinatory _tools_ that year," she said quietly, distractedly. "Some people don't need the tools, and using them muddles up their ability. Say, in your dream, did you know it was a dream?"

"I usually do," Hermione answered. "I think I forgot, this time, though."

Lavender frowned. "And usually when you know you're dreaming, you can fiddle with what's happening, right?" Hermione nodded. "But you couldn't this time?" Hermione nodded again. "That settles it, then," Lavender said firmly. "Definitely an astral projection dream. Have you had any other dreams like it before?"

Hermione winced. The dance. _Dammit!_ "Yes," she whispered. "I dreamed about the dance every night for months. And I had a weird dream about Ron, too."

Lavender sighed. "The dance- that's a memory, but if it still bothers you it might be a message. As for Ron- you two are a couple, right?" Hermione blushed and nodded. Lavender smiled. "I thought so. What did you dream about with him?"

Hermione chewed her lip. "He was dressed all in white, and he was getting dragged away by a bunch of guys in uniforms, like he was a criminal. He looked the same as he always did- that was last summer when I dreamed these- but I knew he was supposed to be older."

Lavender stood up. "I think there's more to you than there seems to be," she told her. "I'll see you at breakfast."

Hermione stared after the girl that usually irked her no end. It was amazing what eighteen months could do to a person's maturity. _"There's more to you than there seems to be,"_ Lavender had said. Hermione smiled. _Right back at ya, Lav._

'


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

__

Three weeks later

"You look really good," Parvati said encouragingly.

"It's a really cute costume," Lavender added.

Hermione gazed at her reflection in the mirror with dismay. It was Halloween, and Hermione was already committed to writing an extra paper for Transfiguration. She had no time to organize a costume for the dance, let alone make one. Therefore, she had let the cheerful volunteers, Parvati and Lavender take care of it.

Big mistake.

She was now clad in a skimpy, wispy fairy costume, complete with wings and a halo of flowers. Her hair was down except for two tiny braids, wrapped around her head with flowers woven into them. Lavender had enchanted the whole ensemble to shimmer and sparkle. She tugged self-consciously at the flimsy material of the skirt, trying to bring the hem down to a decent level. 

"Careful!" Parvati reprimanded. "You'll tear the wisps!" 

__

Damned wisps, Hermione thought feverishly. "I can't wear this!" she protested. "The rules specifically stated that you couldn't wear anything revealing, and if this isn't revealing, I don't know what is!"

Parvati laughed. "But it's so _cute_!" she said. "Besides, what teacher in his right mind is going to ask _you_ to change out of _that_?"

Hermione sighed and looked in the mirror again. It _was _a nice costume. And she _did_ look terrific in it. But still…

"Hold still," Lavender ordered, purposefully whipping out a compact of gold eyeshadow and brushing it over Hermione's eyelids and cheekbones. "There! Now you're ready. Now wait here while Parvati and I change."

Hermione sighed and fell onto the bed, feeling the "wispy" edges of the dress float down gently beside her legs. _Next Halloween,_ she vowed. _I am taking care of my own costume or not going to the dance at all!_

"Ta-da!" 

Hermione looked up, and her jaw dropped. Here, standing in front of her, were two strangely clad girls who looked as though they had jumped right out of the sixties-club sets of _Austin Powers_. Tiny, brightly-coloured dresses, very odd hair, massive shoes, and large round sunglasses. She laughed.

"What- what planet are you supposed to be from?" Hermione gasped between giggles.

Lavender laughed and fluffed her hair. "Phsycadellic, no? This ought to strike a familiar chord with a few of the teachers!"

Parvati giggled. "I can just picture McGonagall, thirty-five years ago, partying away, martini in hand." She peered at her face in a flower-shaped mirror and applied a layer of Barbie-pink lipstick to her mouth. It looked atrocious, but it went with the costume. 

"Who are you going with?" Hermione asked breathlessly, her sides sore from laughing.

"Dean and Seamus," Lavender answered. "They're dressed as Austin Powers and Dr, Evil. I shudder to think of what Seamus is wearing- he's Powers."

"Or _not_ wearing," Parvati chipped in. She shuddered.

Hermione giggled along with them, and shook her head. She stood up, and sighed dismally as she tugged again on the hem of her skirt. "Don't you have something I could wear over this thing?" she demanded. "A cloak or something?"

Lavender sighed dramatically, and produced a long, floor length bronze cloak, made of the same type of fabric as the dress. Hermione snatched it and pulled it on. "Thank you," she said, then grinned at the disappointed expressions on her friends' faces. "Oh, smile, will you?" she chided. "I might take it off later. Let's go see how the boys are doing."

The trio went down the stair slowly, for Parvati and Lavender's sake, as they were wearing platform shoes. Dean and Seamus were both at the bottom already, sitting on one of the couches, absorbing compliments for their _interesting_ costumes. Hermione scanned the room for Ron. Where was he?

"Look, Hermi," Parvati giggled, pointing. "There's Ron. What's wrong with him?"

Hermione followed her friend's gaze, and saw Ron sitting on the stairs to the boys' dormitory. He was wearing a long, dark red cloak with the hood pulled up, and a sour expression on his face. She raised an eyebrow, and walked over to see what was the matter.

Ron looked up, and grinned when he saw her. "Where's your costume?" he asked teasingly. "Someone has no spirit."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I made the mistake of letting Lavender and Parvati take care of my costume." She jerked her head over to where the pair were flirting with a group of seventh year boys. "And I'm not taking this off." She tightened the cloak protectively around her shoulders and sat down next to him. "And where's yours?"

Ron sighed animatedly. "I, like you, let my friends organize my costume. Something that has taught me a valuable lesson. And I'm not taking mine off, either."

Hermione grinned. "Oh, surely it can't be _that_ bad," she protested. 

Ron looked up at her and rolled his eyes. "_Oh_, yes it can." He scanned her cloak, and then his own. "Tell you what," he said finally. "You take yours off, and I'll take mine off."

They were interrupted by a loud half-disgusted giggle from a sugar-high second year who was coming up the stairs. Frowned. "Let me rephrase that," he said, kicking the kid back down the stair absently. "You first."

Hermione sighed and stood up. _This is so _Titanic, she thought as she fiddled with the ties of her cloak. She finally let it slip over her shoulders, feeling the wings unfurl between her shoulder blades. With a defiant expression on her face, she turned and faced Ron.

He gaped at her. Hermione winced and reefed again at the hem of the dress. _Why is it so damned short?_ She fidgeted uncomfortably, grinding the ball of her foot into the carpet of the stair. "Going to say anything?" she asked finally.

Ron shook his head violently. "Sorry," he said. "My God- you look amazing." He looked her up and down. "Pixie, are you?"

She shifted. "Er- fairy, apparently. Are you going to show me yours or what?"

Ron rolled his eyes. He pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing that his hair had been spiked and shaped into two horns on either side of his head. Hermione raised an eyebrow and he smiled wryly at her. "It gets worse," he said, and pulled off the cloak.

It was Hermione's turn to gape. Ron was wearing red leather pants and an orange tank top with a black mesh shirt over top. The whole effect made him look like a glowing ember, and gave him an image that Lavender would have described as "naughty". "The devil?" she squeaked.

Ron rolled his eyes and blew air out of the side of his mouth. "Like I said, this is the last time I let Dean organize my costume. I feel like a transvestite." 

Hermione blinked a couple of times to clear her head. "Well, at least our costumes go together. Sort of." It was true, the colours of Hermione's costume complimented Ron's perfectly, whether pixies usually associated with demons or not. She offered a hand to Ron and pulled him out of his seat. They walked down the stairs and joined the group of students leaving for the Great Hall. 

The decorations for the dance were fantastic. Pumpkins, scarecrows and other harvest décor lined the walls, and there was food everywhere. Pumpkin juice in massive punch bowls, pumpkin pie, deep-fried bat wings (a.k.a. blue corn tortilla chips) and cookies of all shapes and sizes, stacked high on tables around the edges of the dance floor. People in all sorts of costumes- from angels to zebras- stood around, waiting for the dancing to start. 

Hermione smiled as she felt Ron take her hand and guide her over onto the dance floor. "Look," he said to her over the music. "They hired a deejay." A man dressed in a vampire outfit was standing on a raised platform at one end of the room, surrounded by artistically flashing lights. Hermione didn't recognize the song they were playing- it was a wizard one, and she didn't listen to WWN. She liked it, though.

"Are you going to dance with me or what?" she asked, giving Ron's hand a tug.

He grinned back at her. "I don't dance," he said firmly.

"Oh, don't be a spoilsport," Hermione said, laughing. "You danced at the last ball. You can't have gotten any worse!" She gave his arm another good wrench, and pulled him onto the dance floor.

Maybe Ron was lying. Or maybe he didn't know how good he was. But it was clear to Hermione that Ron was quite capable of dancing. The music pounded in her ears as he spun her, and she shrieked and hauled at her skirt again, as the turn pulled it up again. _I'm going to kill Lavender,_ she thought passionately.

She laughed again as Ron swung her around, putting her down again in one of the little door recesses that led to the kitchens. "Ron!" she chided. "You told me you couldn't dance!"

He grinned evilly at her, leaning in and tracing the flowers in her hair with his fingers. "I lied," he said matter-of-factly. "Mum taught me how."

"To dance or to lie-" Hermione started, but Ron cut her off by putting a hand over her mouth. 

"Pixie," he whispered, leaning even closer. "Shut up." And he took his hand away and kissed her vehemently. 

Hermione smiled inwardly as she snaked her arms around Ron's neck, letting him hold her tightly. She shivered as his mouth moved over hers, his hands running up and down her back. The now-familiar sensation of knowing what he was thinking washed over her, and she surrendered and let Ron pull her even closer.

He pulled away for a moment, his breath ragged, before returning to her. He left her lips and kissed her eyelid, her cheek, her ear, then trailed down to her neck. Hermione quaked in his grip, relying on his arms to hold her up. She thought she would fall over if he let go. He came back to her mouth and kissed her until she was out of breath.

"Hey, get a room, guys," came a voice from beside them. "You're starting to melt the decorations." Dean Thomas, a.k.a. Dr. Evil, with Parvati Patil hanging around his neck like a bow tie, was leaning against the wall, grinning evilly.

Ron let go of Hermione quickly and jumped away from her. She felt a slight blush creep into her cheeks as Parvati winked at her.

"Don't say you weren't _doing _anything," Parvati warned them. "'Cause we'll never believe a word of it. Say, is that Celtic music playing?"

And it was. Hermione wondered if there was always such an extensive selection played at wizarding balls. 

"We were just about to go and try to find an empty room or something," Dean said. "Lavender has this new game she found, and she wants to try it. Care to join us?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but Ron just grinned and took her hand as they followed their friends through the crowds of people in the Great Hall, stopping momentarily to collect Lavender.

"What about Seamus?" Lavender protested as they tried to steer her away. "We can't forget him!"

"Where is he?" Dean asked. Lavender pointed to a clearing were Seamus, in full Austin Powers regalia, was dancing in a fashion that almost put Michael Flatley to shame.

"That's _Seamus_?" Parvati squeaked. "I didn't know he could 'Riverdance'."

Lavender grinned. "His dad taught him how. After all, his whole family _is_ Irish."

Dean waded in and grabbed his friend by the arm. "Break it up, Lord of the Dance," he mocked. "Come on, we're going to go play with that book of Lav's"

The five of them managed to get Seamus away from his audience and into the hallway. They all flopped against the wall and slid to the floor, while Lavender rummaged trough her purse, looking for the book they were going to play with.

"So, Satan," Parvati called to Ron. "Got a little devilish this evening, did we?" Ron glared at her, then inspected his fingernails like they were the most interesting things in the world. Parvati laughed and turned her attention to Lavender, who had finally managed to find her book.

"_If_," she read. "_Questions for the Game of Life_. By Evelyn McFarlane and James Saywell. Who want's to go first?"

Confused, everybody stared at her. She giggled. "Fine then. _I'll_ go first. Seamus-" She closed her eyes, opened the book, and pointed, then opened her eyes and read, "If you could steal one thing in the world, other than money, without getting caught, what would you take?"

Seamus looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he said, "A pair of top-box tickets to the next Quidditch world cup. Now what?" 

Lavender passed him the book. "Ask someone else, silly."

"All right," said Seamus. He flipped through the book. "Parvati: If you could have a dinner party inviting any four people from history, who would you invite, and where would the party take place?"

And so, on they went, learning interesting and trivial facts about each other that they would probably forget by the end of the week, until Ron's turn came for about the ninth time.

"Dean," he began. "If you could- wait," he stopped short. "Where did you say you found this book, Lavender?"

She shrugged. "In the Muggle section of the school library. Why?"

Ron looked back at the book with rasied eyebrows. "I'm not sure this ought to be in contact with younger kids. Look at this."

She took the book and started to read the question. "If you could have- oh, dear. I see your point." She put the book back in her bag and stood up. "Let's go back to the dance."

When they got back through the doors, they were immediately pounced upon by Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. They both sported extremely grim expressions. 

"Damn," said Seamus. "Busted." Dean elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up, but neither of the teachers seemed to notice their antics. They were both focused on Ron. He removed his arm from around Hermione's shoulders quickly, taking a step away from her.

"Weasley," said McGonagall sternly, taking Ron's arm. "We need to speak with you. Without the other students." And with that, Ron was led away, a puzzled expresion on his face. 

'


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Hermione sat in the hallway outside the entrance to Professor Dumbledore's office with her friends, waiting for Ron to come out. The rumors about Ron's involvement with Voldemort had spread, and she wouldn't have been surprised if it had gotten al the way up to the teachers. McGonagall hadn't looked pleased when she came asking for him. Hermione fiddled with the edge of her dress, impatient. What was taking so long?

"What's taking so long?" Parvati asked suddenly, voicing exactly Hermione's thoughts. "What're they doing in there, anyway?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know," she said quietly. "I mean- there's that whole rumors thing, but it can't be that, can it?"

"Could well be," Dean said darkly. "Especially if Snape's heard of it."

Hermione chewed on her lip and tugged worriedly on her hair. "You don't have to stay here," she said quietly to her friends. "You can go back to the dance. You don't have to stay with me."

Seamus looked up, trying not to disturb Lavender, who was asleep against his shoulder. "You don't have to stay here, either," he pointed out. "But you are, for Ron. And we will for you." He twirled one of Lavender's curls around his finger, and she made a soft noise and snuggled against him. "Not like I'm bored," Seamus added with a bit of a grin. "I've got entertainment."

Hermione sighed. She wished she could lean on Ron's shoulder right then. But Ron was up in the office, so she couldn't.

Dean frowned at her expression. "Hey," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be OK. Ron'll be fine."

She sighed again and slumped against the wall. She wanted to believe Dean, but- She had been dreaming again. Some about Harry and Ginny, with a bit of professional advice from Lavender- and about Ron. More and more she was dreaming about him being led away. She hated it. She loathed it. But it wouldn't stop. Somehow, she knew: something was very wrong. 

"Miss Granger."

Hermione was jolted out of her half-trance as the gargoyle jumped aside and Professor McGonagall stepped out of the wall behind it. "Get up, Miss Granger," she said to Hermione, in a far gentler voice than she usually used. "I think you're needed upstairs." She glanced sternly at the rest of them, saying, "The rest of you can go."

Seamus woke up Lavender, and the four of them got up slowly and walked in the opposite direction. Hermione meekly followed McGonagall back through the wall and up the spiral staircase to Dumbledore's office. When they reached the top, the Professor opened the door and drew Hermione inside.

The second thing Hermione noticed when she got inside Dumbledore's main office was the exquisite decorating in the room. The walls were lined with portraits, and there were odd little trinkets everywhere. Fawkes, the Phoenix, sat on a desk in one corner, preening his feathers. She took all this in through a bit of a screen, though, because the first thing she noticed in the room was Ron.

And he was crying.

Ron was sprawled on a large chair in the corner of the room, his hands over his face, tears streaming from his eyes. He was making no noise, but Hermione could see him shaking uncontrollably, even from across the room. 

She started to take a step towards him, but McGonagall tightened her grip on Hermione's shoulder and held her back. Hermione flexed her fingers, itching to go over and see what was the matter. Dumbledore walked into the office from an adjoining room, and led Ron into it; closed the door gently behind him. Then he strode over to where Hermione and McGonagall were standing.

"I think Mr. Weasley would rather be left alone, right now," he told Hermione gently. "When we have finished, I will allow you to see him."

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked, panicked. "Is he OK?"

Dumbledore tugged thoughtfully at his beard. "He is not in any physical danger, if that's what you mean. But he may be rather unpleasant for a few days. You may leave, Minerva," he added to Professor McGonagall. "This does not concern you."

McGonagall squeezed Hermione's shoulder in an almost motherly fashion, then walked out the door and down the stairs. Hermione watched her go, feeling as though everything she had was leaving with the professor. She sighed and turned her attention to Dumbledore. "What's going on?" she asked finally. 

He looked her over, almost as if he were sizing her up. Hermione shifted under his gaze, nervous. Dumbledore finally sighed and began.

"You are aware of the rumors circulating around Mr. Weasley, I'm sure," he said, and Hermione nodded. "Hm. Well, he says he told you- he told us as well- that he is beginning to feel that the rumors may carry some truth. He gave some excellent reasons for thinking such things, and Minerva and I decided it was time to see what it all meant."

"You did a truth spell on him?" Hermione asked. "But he can break those, right? What's the point?"

He shook his head. "No. There are a few spells that deal strictly with memory. I selected a particularly strong one that helps to bring back distant and forgotten thoughts." Mr. Weasley was placed under a memory charm, Miss Granger, and what the rumors are saying is partially true."

She almost fell out of her seat. "What? _True?_ How? Ron wouldn't sell Harry to Voldemort! He wouldn't!"

Dumbledore cut her off with a raised hand. "He did not sell them to Voldemort, Miss Granger," he said firmly. "If you stop interrupting, I will tell you what happened as it was told to me." Hermione took the hint and sat back into her chair.

"You know that Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley disappeared approximately five weeks before school began." Hermione nodded again. "Well, the struggle actually began about a week before that. Ron was grocery-shopping in Ottery St. Catchpole when he stumbled across a Death Eater, disguised as a beggar. The Death Eater took him to Voldemort's Headquarters, recognizing him as Harry's friend. Ron was questioned on Harry's whereabouts, but he refused to tell, even under Cruciatus Curse."

Hermione smiled grimly. _Good for you, Ron,_ she thought.

"Ron was sent back to his home with the promise that the Death Eaters would return. They did, and used a powerful truth spell on him, which he resisted quite well, until they took his sister. It was then that he lost control and let it slip where Harry was staying. But this is what is bothering me, Miss Granger." He beckoned to her, and she leaned forward to hear what he was saying, numb from shock.

"The memory charm was extremely easy to break," Dumbledore said quietly. "Too easy. More easy than I find normal. That is why Mr. Weasley was able to pick up on a few details and bring it to our attention. But I'm suspicious, Miss Granger. I believe that it may have been weak on purpose. As if there might have been a reason for it."

Hermione sat very still for a moment, letting this all sink in. "So- is Ron in trouble?" she asked quietly. "Is he blamed for this?"

Dumbledore smiled gently. "No, of course not. It was not his fault. But-" He stopped and looked intently at her. "You must tell no one what happened. It does not leave this room. You may discuss it with Mr. Weasley if you wish, but you must be sure that no one will hear you. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, sir," she whispered. "May I see Ron, now?"

The old professor sighed and stood up. Hermione followed him to the room where Ron was. Dumbledore opened the door and let her in, but did not follow. He closed the door behind her, and left them alone.

Ron was sitting in the corner of the room. His hair, which had sported devilish spikes at the start of the evening, was rumpled, and around his eyes was red from crying. When he looked up at her, his eyes were again flat and wrung out, with no trace of green in them. Hermione almost started crying when she saw him. 

"Hey," Ron said brokenly. "I guess Dumbledore told you everything, huh?"

She licked her lips nervously. "I guess so," she answered. "He probably left out a few details, for your sake, I mean-"

Ron cut her off with a raised hand. "I don't want to think about it right now," he said firmly. "It disgusts me."

"It's not your fault," Hermione protested. "You couldn't do anything about it."

Ron jumped to his feet and glared at her. She winced, in remembrance of the fights they had had not so long ago. _I won't let us hate each other again,_ she thought firmly. _Not now!_

"You weren't there," Ron said slowly, silkily. "You don't know what happened. I resisted the truth spell, OK? Because I could. I _could_, get it? And then, when they took Ginny, I lost it. I could have broken it, see, but I didn't. I lost it. So now Harry and Ginny are with You-Know-Who, and I'm the only one I can blame. So don't tell me it's not my fault, Hermione Granger, because as far as I'm concerned, it is!"

He was very close to slapping her, she could tell. She took a step back into the door. "Ron, I'm sorry," she whispered.

He sighed, and fell back against the wall. "Don't be," he said quietly. "It's not your fault." He screwed his eyes shut and put his head in his hands again. "Dear God, why is it that every time I get something good in my life, someone comes along and screws it up?"

Was he crying again? Hermione sat down beside him, worried. "There's nothing you could have done," she whispered. "And there isn't anything you can do, and there probably never will be." She stroked his hair comfortingly, feeling her own tears threatening to well up behind her own eyes. Ron reached up behind his head and took her hand. 

"I didn't mean to yell at you," he told her quietly. "I'm sorry. If you haven't noticed, I tend to blow up at things rather easily, these days."

She smiled wryly. "Oh, I've noticed, all right," she said, then changed her tone of voice. "You'll be OK, won't you?"

Ron brought his hand down, still holding hers. He looked at her hand, running his finger over her palm, thinking. "It really hurt when they broke the memory charm," he admitted. "I don't think it was suppoesed to. McGonagall and Dumbledore didn't notice. It felt like a full-body Cruciatus Curse." He shuddered. "Ugh. I don't know, Pixie. I got the impression that something bad was going to happen."

__

Pixie. He had been calling her that all evening. If it had been any other day, she would have loved it. But right now, she was too worried. Ron stood up with a sigh and pulled her to her feet.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" he asked quietly. "About what they told you? About what I told you?"

Hermione bit her lip and touched his cheek. "Of course not," she said. "Not unless you want me to."

He smiled a tiny smile, then leaned down and kissed her softly. "Thanks," he whispered. "I appreciate it."

She hugged him tightly, feeling his need for comfort. Ron was still shaking. "It'll be OK," she whispered in his ear. But something deep, deep down inside of her told her that that was a lie. 

'


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Things were rather uneventful for the next three weeks, considering the circumstances. Ron had a cold for a couple of days, and Hermione caught it (Parvati suggested that perhaps she gad gotten it from kissing. Hermione smacked her.), but it was flu season and nearly everyone did at some point or another. 

It seemed that quite a few students had witness Hermione and Ron's "intrigue" (as Lavender called it), including Draco Malfoy. Dean said he'd actually heard Pansy Parkinson telling Malfoy what had gone on- in a very exaggerated manner. Malfoy, however, made no snide remarks, no rude comments. Actually, he didn't say much of anything to anyone. In class, he was quiet and did what he had to, no more, no less. After five years of watching Malfoy cause trouble, it was a shock to see him so _good._

Snape, however, more than made up for him.

Well known for pulling new rules out of thin air, Snape decided the day after the dance that "suggestive behavior" in public was a suspendable offence. Luckily, Professor McGonagall was able to get them out of it.

Ron still loved complaining about Snape, even after having had him as a teacher for six years. They were sitting in History of Magic one day, three weeks after Hallowe'en, when Hermione felt a note poked between her shoulder blades.

__

Pixie,

Is it just me, or is Snape watching me? Every time I look up in Potions, he's staring at me. Or so I think. I could be wrong. Have you noticed anything?

-Ron

Hermione bit her lip for a moment. Come to think of it, she_ had_ noticed Professor Snape watching Ron a few times over the past few weeks. She hadn't thought anything of it; after all, Snape _did_ hate her and Ron. He was still bitter for failing to expel them. 

__

Ron,

If Professor Snape's watching you, it's likely because he's looking for an excuse to have you thrown out of the school. Therefore, I suggest you stay out of trouble while he's around. 

-Hermione

She passed the note to Ron, who opened it, read it and grinned. She watched him scribble a reply and pass it back to her. 

__

Pixie,

Snape's excuse for trying to get us suspended was, as he put it, our "suggestive behavior". The thing is, he didn't actually see us at the dance (probably locked himself in his office, disgusted at the thought of children having fun). He heard it from one of the younger Slytherin students. According to thins young man, I had you on the ground, with your dress halfway off your shoulders. I don't know where that _came from!_

-Ron

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Rumors,_ she thought. _Honestly._ Just to be ornery, though, she wrote back:

__

Ron,

Sorry, I wasn't paying much attention. How am I supposed to know that it's just rumors? Did you do that?

-Hermione

She grinned as she tossed it to him and watched as he raised an eyebrow, then scrawled his reply on the back of the paper.

__

I wish.

Hermione let out a smothered giggle, trying not to disturb the class. She crumpled up the note and looked over at Ron. He was grinning evilly at her. She crumpled the paper into a tighter ball, and took careful aim. Glancing for a moment at Professor Binns, she whipped the paper over Lavender's head at Ron.

He raised a hand to block the tiny missile, his grin still on his face. But then he frowned, his hand convulsed, and he missed the paper. It hit him in the shoulder. That wasn't so bad, it was only paper, after all. But Ron was still frowning- grimacing, now- and massaging his hand between his other finger and thumb. He finally flexed his fingers a few times, and focused again (however glumly) on the ghost professor.

Hermione caught up with Ron on the way out of class. "What happened to your hand?" she asked as she came up beside him. 

"Don't know," Ron admitted. "It just wouldn't work. It froze up." He was quiet for a moment as Hermione took his hand and looked over it, bending his fingers and wrist back and forth. "Hurt like hell, too. Like the Cruciatus Curse, just on the hand." He drew his hand back and rolled his eyes. "I say that a lot these days, don't I?" he asked. "About the Cruciatus Curse?"

Hermione smiled uncertainly, and took Ron's other hand, giving it a squeeze. "Let's go," she said to him. "It's time for lunch."

"We have Potions after lunch," Ron complained as they walked down the hall. "Double with the Slytherins." He shuddered. "Why do we _always_ have to have it with the Slytherins? _Why?_" He threw up his hands in despair. "Aarrgh!"

Hermione laughed. "Get over it," she chided. "At least it's only twice a week. Most people have Potions every day."

He rolled his eyes. "One day I will just give up in Potions. I will just lose it and go completely mad, and drop on the floor, twitching." He laughed. "That shouldn't be too far away, at the rate this is going." He put his arm around her shoulders, and they walked laughing, to the Great Hall. 

'


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Make sure you don't add your Unicorn horn too soon," Snape growled irritably at his class. "Or it will be too thick, and useless." He leaned over a very nervous Neville Longbottom, sneering at his blue-green potion.

Hermione leaned against the counter, grinding the Unicorn horn with all her strength. Snape had been yelling at her and Ron all class. Ron was stirring the potion cautiously, muttering to himself. "Don't _flirt_, Weasley. Pay _attention_, Weasley. Quit staring at your _girlfriend_, Weasley." He lifted the stirring rod out of the cauldron and gave it a sniff. "Ugh."

Hermione felt the powdered horn between her fingers, testing its texture. "It's ready," she told Ron. "Can it go in yet?"

"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley _stop talking_!"

Ron looked up at Snape's desk and let out a low growl. Hermione put a hand on his shoulder to keep him from saying anything dumb, and he sighed and sank back into his chair. "Ignore him," she hissed in his ear. Ron sat in his chair, scowling.

"He's only trying to get you to say something that'll get you in trouble," she whispered to Ron as she tipped the powdered horn into the potion. It fizzed and turned purple. "Don't give him the chance."

Ron's scowl softened slightly. "I know, Pixie," he said wearily. "I'm just in a bad mood. Damned old grouch has been trying my patience all afternoon." He searched through a rack of phials, looking for frog slime. "Bleagh." He made a face, pulling out a translucent green goo. Measuring a spoonful into the cauldron, he asked, "What do we put in next?"

Hermione scanned the instructions. "Veela blood," she said, handing him a phial of the silvery-red liquid. "Careful," she chided, fixing his grip on the bottle. "It's acidic."

Ron unscrewed the lid of the phial with cautious fingers, holding it away from his nose. A faint pink smoke creeped up the edge of the bottle and spilled over the side. Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"Add the whole bottle gradually," she instructed, reading from the book. "And don't spill any."

He began to pour the contents carefully into the potion. Hermione turned back to her book, and poked the fire back up under the faintly boiling potion. She took a large spoon and gave the brew a stir.

Suddenly, Ron swore and dropped the bottle of Veela blood. It smashed on the floor, burning smoking holes in the legs of the chairs and the floor. Snape jumped out from behind his desk, eyes alight with anger.

"Stupid boy," he hissed at Ron. But Ron didn't hear. He was crouched on the floor, his head in his hands, his breathing short and ragged. He was rocking back and forth on his haunches, face twisted in a pained grimace.

Hermione scrambled out from behind the fire and skidded to kneel beside Ron. Some of the blood had hit his hands and face, and it was red and blistering wherever it touched him. She put her hands on his shoulders and shook him. "Ron!"

He looked up at her and met her gaze. His eyes were very green. The instant he looked at her, she screamed. A wave of fiery pain rolled through her hands, up her arms, until it had consumed her entire body. She let go of him and fell back into the legs of a chair, trembling.

A crowd of students had gathered around the two of them, panicked but unable to do anything. Hermione was lying on the floor beside a desk, and Ron was still rocking, his hands clawing at the back of his head, gasping.

Snape pushed his way through the students, finally standing over Ron. He produced a phial containing a deep red secretion, and squatted in front of Ron, prying his hands away from his face.

He was pale- alarmingly so- and his pupils were dilated to pinpricks. He was still panting heavily, and his breaths were ragged and deliberate, as though he had to work to get the air in and out. Snape tipped the potion down Ron's throat and he coughed a few times. Finally, Ron fell back into the legs of a chair and lay there, staring at the ceiling and breathing hard.

"Thomas," barked Snape. "Finnigan. Take Granger and Weasley to the hospital wing and tell Madame Pomfrey what happened." He handed Dean the empty phial. "Bring this, and show it to her."

She felt Seamus pick her up carefully, and she slumped against his shoulder, too weak to do anything else. Dean helped Ron to his feet, slinging an arm around his shoulders to support him. The four of them made their way up to the infirmary. Hermione felt she ought to get down and walk, she felt ridiculous being carried the whole way. But Seamus said he wouldn't risk her falling and breaking something, and him getting blamed for it. 

Madame Pomfrey, upon seeing them, shoved Ron into a bed and Hermione into a chair. Hermione drank a glass of apple-tasting potion that was supposed to make her feel better, then sat back, waiting for it to kick in. She could hear the nurse conversing in hushed tones with Dean, discussing what had happened. 

Hermione curled up in the large armchair and covered her ears. She didn't want to hear what Dean was saying. She didn't want to have to see the whole scene all over again. 

She finally felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up into the matron's kindly eyes. "Mr. Weasley is asking to see you," she told her gently. "Can you walk to go see him?"

Hermione frowned. She felt fine. "Of course I can," she said, getting up. The instant she put weight on her feet, though, her knees buckled and she almost sat back down before the matron caught her arm and held her up. Hermione stood swaying for a moment, getting her balance, then walked carefully over to the bed where Ron was a drew back the curtains.

He was half sitting up, leaning against the pillows, the covers rolled up near his feet. His sketchbook was against his knees, and he was drawing. He smiled at Hermione when he saw her, and put the book down.

"Are you OK?" he asked finally. "Pomfrey said you were pretty weak, and I saw Seamus carrying you. Are you going to be all right?"

__

How do our conversations always end up starting like this? Hermione thought with exasperation. "You're the one who was…" she cried, then trailed off, trying to find an adjective to describe what had happened. "…Sick," she finished. "I wasn't. Why do you keep asking if _I'm_ OK?"

He grinned then, however weakly, and it relieved her to see it. "Because I'm not that kind of person," he said cheerfully. "Incidentally, I feel fine. I don't think I could walk very well, though."

She sat down on the edge of the bed. "What happened?"

Ron smiled wryly. "Guess."

She raised an eyebrow. "Cruciatus Curse?" she asked. 

He rolled his eyes. "You got it," he said, leaning back and picking up his sketchbook again. "I'm getting really predictable, aren't I?"

She tried to get a look at what he was drawing, but she couldn't see. It wasn't unusual to see him drawing, not these days, but now seemed like kind of an unorthodox time for it. "Let me see," she protested when he yanked the book out of her sight. He finally sighed, and passed it to her.

It was a gruesome sight. More a study than a scene, really. He had drawn a skull in one corner of the page, a dead crow in the other, a weird green and gold chess set at the top, and a dented, bloodstained crown in the bottom. At the center of the page was a scene depicting a boy dressed in black, standing in the center of what appeared to be an old battlefield. Some of the bodies had been reduced to skeletons, while others were rotting and only halfway there. Still others were as fresh and bloody as if they had just been killed. Black and acid-green fire played over everything, leaving frost on everything it touched, as opposed to soot. Hermione recognized among the fresher bodies Harry, Ginny, the twins, and _herself_. She dropped the book.

"What the hell is that?" she finally gasped.

Ron made an exasperated noise and picked up the sketchbook. "Madame Pomfrey asked me to describe what I saw while I was out. I'm no good with words, so I drew it instead." He traced the outline of the skull with his finger. "That's all I can remember. I'm pretty sure there was more."

She sat on the edge of the bed. "But- you were awake in class, weren't you?"

"Half," he replied. "Semi conscious. Half my brain was in Potions, feeling all the pain and shit, and the other half was in the weird place, seeing all the weird stuff."

She reached over and took his hand. "It must have been terrible," she whispered. 

He squeezed her hand. "Worse than you can possibly imagine," he said quietly. "Enough to make anyone sick." He sighed and lay down, and patted the space beside him. Hermione lay down beside him, feeling his arm slide around her waist. She rested her head on his chest, and she could feel him trembling.

"Are you sure you're OK?" she asked him quietly. This was very, very bad.

He stoked her hair absently, with a small laugh. "No, I'm sure I'm _not_ OK. Honestly, Pixie, when a guy starts dreaming about blood, gore, dead bodies, et cetera, and collapses in anguish in the middle of Potions class, it's to be concluded that he's not all right."

Hermione bit her lip, and tried to return his light tone. "Collapsing in anguish in Potions? Is that unusual?"

He let out a whole laugh, this time. "Technically, no. I'm serious, though," he added. "Something's screwed."

She felt his arm tighten around her, and she reached up and smoothed his hair away from his face. "_Will_ you be OK?" she whispered.

He was silent for a moment. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "I hope so."

Ron didn't say anything after that, and she kept quiet. It was almost half an hour later when she looked at her watch and sat up, realizing Ron was asleep. She smiled at the sight of him, and pulled the covers up over him. He was still wearing his school robes. It felt odd, she thought as she tucked the covers around him. Odd to see Ron so- not helpless, exactly, but needing her. She was so used to being on the receiving end of his comfort, when he held her at the Leaky Cauldron, told her it would be all right, comforting her on the occasions he found her crying. She watched him for a moment as he stirred in his sleep, half-turning over.

"I love you, Ron," she whispered, kissing his forehead, then turned and walked out of the infirmary.

But he couldn't hear her. He was asleep. 

'


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Hermione sat in Transfigurations, chewing hard on the end of her quill, worried. Ron had been allowed back into class that morning, with a warning not to strain himself. He was fine- albeit a little pale- for most of the day. But in the middle of the last period, Transfigurations, he had jumped to his feet, pale and clammy, and said that he needed to, get to the hospital wing right away. McGonagall had sent Justin Finch-Fletchy with him, to make sure he got there all right. But Hermione didn't know what was happening.

The bell rang, and she shoved her books into her bag hastily, then scrambled over her desk and bolted out the door. She danced around desks and students, trying to avoid the surge of people that usually managed to block the door. 

Hermione zipped through the hallways at an amazing speed, grabbing walls and sliding around corners when she had to, and almost ran down Mrs. Norris on her way past. But even the old grump of a cat wasn't fast enough to catch her that day.

She finally skidded to a halt at the door to the infirmary, catching the doorframe as she passed to avoid missing it entirely. She scrambled inside, and ran headlong into Madame Pomfrey. 

"Let me guess," the matron said dryly. "You're here to see Mr. Weasley."

Hermione brushed off her skirt, blushing. "If it wouldn't be any trouble," she said to her shoes. "I just want to know if he's all right."

Madame Pomfrey shook her head. "I'm afraid you cannot see him right now," she said. "He had another attack and is not fit for visitors."

Hermione screwed her eyes shut. "Is he all right?" she repeated. "Please, I need to know."

The nurse opened her mouth to reply, but they were cut off but a muffled "_Shit!_" from around the corner. Madame Pomfrey, apparently forgetting about Hermione, scampered around the corner to where the sound had come from, and Hermione followed. Ron was stiff as a board, lying in his back, atop the covers on the bed, still in his school clothes. He was staring at the ceiling, terrified by something only he could see.

The matron let out a string of elegant bad language, and hurried over to the bed, feeling her patient's forehead. "Cold," Hermione heard her mutter. "Cold as ice. That potion was supposed to block the visions." She kept muttering to herself as she mixed up a blue-grey potion. Hermione, seeing the opportunity while Pomfrey was distracted, ran over to the bed and grabbed Ron's hand.

He _was_ cold. So cold that she dropped his hand. Touching him was like sticking your hand in a bucket of ice water. She took a deep breath and took his hand again, feeling the jolt of pain go through her again at his contact. But she bit her lip and held on. "Ron!" she hissed. "Ron!"

His gaze flicked away from the ceiling and met Hermione's, and she gasped as he looked at her. She could feel himself regaining control of his consciousness.

He finally shook his head, and his grip on her hand tightened sharply. "Go," he whispered fiercely at her. "Go, get out of here."

"Ron," Hermione choked. "What's wrong?"

"Get out," he whispered. "I mean it Hermione, get the hell out of here." She let go of his hand and turned on her heel, and ran out of the room as if pursued by Hippogriffs.

And so it went, for the next nine days. Ron was confined to the hospital wing, and Hermione brought him his homework every night. She was careful to come late in the evening, so as not to catch him in another attack. This was not hard to do. They always caught him around two o'clock in the afternoon, and never lasted longer than twenty minutes. But they were getting longer, Ron said. Although, luckily, the pain was duller the longer they got, and he hardly ever hallucinated anymore. 

On the tenth day, a Thursday, Hermione's classes had received a good whomp of homework, especially from Professor Snape. She muttered angrily to herself as she gathered up her books and the papers she had collected for Ron. She had to go back to the Gryffindor tower before she could go to the hospital wing, though, as she had left his morning's homework there.

She reached the common room some time later, slowed by the weight of the books and from stopping to talk to Professor McGonagall about her Prefect duties. She dumped her books on a couch, and began up the stairs to her room-

-And ran smack into Ron, who was coming down the stairs from the girls' dorm. Before she could say anything, he grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her to him and kissed her feverantly, turning her around as he did. Then he let go, and walked up the stairs to the boys' rooms, without saying a word more.

Hermione just stood there for a moment, a hand pressed to her lips, too shocked to do anything else, and watched him go. She had felt something- worry?- when he kissed her, but she had been too off guard to do anything. She finally shook her head to clear it, and followed him, taking the steps two at a time. She walked quickly down the hall, scaring a few of the younger boys who were not used to girls in their rooms, and finally turned a corner to the room where Ron was.

He spun around when he heard her, holding a pair of jeans in his hand. He swore when he saw her, and threw the pants into an open bag in his bed. He stared at her a moment, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway, then sighed and flopped on his bed. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"I was going to get your homework. And you were supposed to be in the hospital wing." She frowned and walked over to the bed where he was lying. 

He opened his eyes and looked at her, not bothering to try and hide his emotions. Hermione could see easily his bitterness, and his diminishing faith. She almost sat down on the floor at the sight of it.

"Why are you packing?" she asked harshly. "Where are you going?"

He sighed and sat up. "They're sending me to St. Mungo's," he said flatly. "I passed out today, and Pomfrey doesn't know what to do with it." He packed while he talked, grabbing clothes and shoving them into the bag without bothering to fold them. He didn't look at her.

Hermione stared at him. "The hospital?" she squeaked. "They don't know what to do?" Ron just nodded, still looking away. "Oh, for the love of-" she ran off a long list of swears, most of which she hadn't known she knew.

He looked up and finally grinned at her, and Hermione felt her heart melt. How could anything bad ever happen to Ron? He must have had enough good Karma to keep him free for decades. "That's my Pixie," he teased her, getting up and standing across from her. "Always ready to say her mind." He was standing so close to her that they were almost touching, and she had to tilt her head back to look at him. "Are you all right?" he asked her quietly.

She closed her eyes and looked down. "Ron, I-" But What could she say? _Don't cry,_ she willed herself. _Not now. Don't cry._ But it was no use. The tears came anyway, trickling down her cheeks.

"Hey," Ron whispered, putting a hand under her chin and lifting her face. "I'll come back, Pixie. You know I will." He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and she bit her lip, feeling more tears threatening to come. Ron put his arms around her and drew close, resting his head on the top of her head. She put her arm around his neck, and finally let the tears come.

"I said I'd come back," he whispered in her ear. "Don't you believe me?" He stroked her hair, and she sniffled and wiped her eyes. 

"What if you don't?" she finally demanded. "What if they don't let you? What if something happens and you can't come back?"

"Hermione." He looked her straight in the eye, and she trembled under his gaze. "I said I'd come back, and I'm going to come back." She started to say something, but he put a hand over her mouth to silence her. "And I'm not lying. God knows why, I can break through those damned potions and charms, but lying to you makes me want to be sick." He smoothed her hair out of her eyes. "I'll come back, Pixie. I promise.

Hermione choked back a sob, feeling her control begin crumble. Why Ron? Of all the people on this Earth to take away from her, why did it have to be Ron?

Ron put his hands on her face, and pulled her to him, kissing her passionately. She felt her knees buckle slightly, and she locked her arms around his neck to keep from falling down. His hands drew ragged lines up and down her back, and Hermione could feel the desperation growing in him; eating him alive. He pulled her closer, kissing her hungrily, and she was happy for a moment, forgetting even that he was leaving.

Ron pulled away, gasping, and for a moment they just stood there, holding each other tightly and eyes half closed. Then Ron pulled himself away- an action so sudden that Hermione didn't have time to react- grabbed his bag, turned, and walked quickly out of the room. She stared at his retreating back, but made no move to follow him.

Dean Thomas entered the room some time later, and she hadn't moved. "Didn't I see Ron in here a moment ago?" he inquired, frowning. "I heard he was going to the hospital."

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, they were bright and free of tears.

"He'll be back," she whispered fiercely. "He'll be back." 

'


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

__

One week later

Hermione eyed the potion that Lavender was mixing with apprehension. She was getting ready to- well, to fall asleep, and do some professional dreaming. She lay back on her bed, and Lavender sat down beside her.

"Now, remember, Hermione," Lavender was saying as she put the finishing touches on the bluish-purple goo. "I'll be with you the whole time, you just can't see me. I'll be able to pull you back quite easily if need be." She handed the potion to Hermione, who held it to her nose and gave it a cautious sniff. It smelled vaguely like blueberries. She finally held it to her mouth and swallowed.

"Hmmm," Hermione said, putting the glass down. "That was nice." She yawned sleepily. This potion worked fast, it seemed. Lavender took her hands as she fell back and closed her eyes. She was asleep within seconds.

A few moments later, Hermione's consciousness came around, inside a dark hallway, as usual. She could feel a presence at her side- Lavender, she assumed- but could see no one. She glanced around her, looking for the hallway she would have to go down to find her friends. There it was. She turned and began to walk towards it.

And stopped. She thought she could hear voices, coming from a chamber on one side of the tunnel. She walked towards it, listening hard.

"…He is weak, Lucius." The voice was high and cold.

"But I have trained him all I can." The second voice was one she recognized- Lucius Malfoy. Hermione fought the urge to spit on the floor. "There is no more that I can teach him, my Lord. I leave him in your capable hands." There was only one person that Malfoy called "my Lord". The other voice was Lord Voldemort.

"Are you trying to dispose of him on me, Lucius?" The Dark Lord's voice was silky and dangerous. "Because if you want to dispose of him, we can simply kill him."

"No, my Lord, no!" Malfoy cried. "I would not do such a thing! My son has great potential as a Death Eater. I would not deprive you of such a servant."

That was a mistake. "Do you mean to tell me that you are going soft for your son, Lucius?" If Voldemort's voice had been dangerous, it was now deadly. "If I wanted to kill him now, would your protests be out of loyalty to your master or love-" At this point he gave a slight sneer. "-For your son?" 

"Loyalty, my Lord, loyalty!" Malfoy gasped. "I wanted to kill him as a baby, it was you, my Lord, who told me to keep him. You said he would be-"

He was cut short, and Hermione could hear gagging noises. _Stifilus Charm,_ she thought, nauseous. _Dear God._

Malfoy's body fell out into the hallway, unconscious. She took a step backwards, and jumped aside as she noticed someone else walking down the hallway.

It was Draco Malfoy. He was wearing battered black robes, and e was paler than usual- unless you counted the bruises that spattered his face and exposed arms. His hair was dirty and unkept, containing what looked like old blood. She danced out of his way, but he didn't seem to see her.

Draco stopped when he saw his father's body on the floor, then walked over to where he lay. He stared at the man for a moment, then swore quietly and kept walking. Hermione watched him go, curious. 

Again, she felt Lavender's presence at her back, pushing her forward. She shook her head and continued following her original course, until she reached the door to Harry and Ginny's cell. She knew what was in there, but couldn't bring herself to look. She knew Lavender had gone past her and was looking in the door. Hermione turned back to where Malfoy was lying, curious as to what had happened. But Lavender was beside her again, pulling her back into sleep. 

Hermione opened her eyes again, staring at the ceiling. Lavender was jotting something down in a small notebook. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "What did you do?" she asked her friend.

Lavender put down her book and pushed hair out of her eyes. "I followed your astral body in my own, and was able to see the general place where they are being held." She began to clear up the ingredients of the potion, humming the melody of a song Hermione didn't know.

"Lavender," Hermione began quietly, and she looked up. "Last week- before he left- I saw Ron coming out of the girls' dorm-"

"I saw him," her friend replied absently.

"What was he doing?" Hermione finished. "Is he even allowed in there?"

"No more than you are in his room," Lavender retorted. "And Dean caught you in there." She put a rack of phials in a box and closed the top.

"But what was he doing?"

Lavender stopped for a moment and considered. "He asked me what kind of shampoo you used," she said. "And then he asked where you kept it. He had a little bottle with him, like the kind you get from the hotel, and he put some of your strawberry stuff in it, then took off."

Hermione frowned. "Oh." She stood up and stretched, then straightened her jeans. "OK. Let's


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Hermione pushed her scrambled eggs around on her plate, half-listening as Lavender mooned over Seamus. He was mooning right back, and it was enough to make anyone sick. She scanned the other tables. People were talking and eating, oblivious to the conflicts around them.

Her eyes stopped momentarily on the Slytherin table, for some reason, and she found herself looking right at Draco Malfoy, who looked about as happy as she was feeling. She frowned, remembering seeing him in Voldemort's castle. She couldn't see any of the bruises that had been so evident just yesterday, but there was a cut across his eyebrow. Then he looked up and was looking straight at her.

She jumped, and flicked her gaze away. The last thing she needed was for Malfoy to spread a bunch of rumors that she was cheating on Ron and now had the hots for him.

"So, I owled the Ministry about Harry and Ginny," Lavender was saying.

"What?" Hermione snapped out of her stupor and dropped a forkful of eggs. "I said I owled the Ministry," she repeated. "They need all the extra information they can get. You didn't expect me to go off looking for them all on my own, did you?"

"Huh? Oh- no." Hermione frowned and tried to gather her thoughts. "What was their reply?"

"Oh, the usual." Lavender rolled her eyes. "They'd _looooove_ to go looking for them, but _noooooooo_, just _tooooooo_ dangerous." She sighed and turned to talk to Parvati.

Hermione sat up and pushed her plate away. God, she couldn't take it anymore. She walked quickly out of the great hall and out into the snow. It must have stormed the night before, because the snow was waist-deep in places. The sky was dark and overcast, perfectly reflecting her mood. She walked over to a bench by the lake and flopped on it.

She felt as if her life were falling apart. First it had been the dance in fifth year, that had split them all into different directions and held them there for long months. Then it had been learning that Harry and Ginny were missing, and finding out that no one cared enough to look for them. And now Ron was ill and no end in sight. She hadn't heard anything about his condition since he had left.

Dear God, this was the very bench she and Ron had been sitting on when he first told her about his worry about the rumors. Until right before that moment, she had been happy. She had actually believed that everything might just turn out all right. But she didn't know about that anymore. It seemed like so long ago. But how long had it been? Two, three months, at most? How long would it be until everything _did _feel right?

Hermione felt tears burning in the corners of her eyes and she quickly closed them, willing herself to stop. It was no use. They came anyway, and she put her face in her hands and cried. Why not? No one would hear her, anyway…

"Who's there?"

She sat straight up, her gaze darting here and there to find the speaker. She hurriedly wiped her eyes, praying desperately that she wasn't blotchy. "What do you want?" she cried.

The person walked around from behind a tree, and she could finally see who it was. She might have rathered they had stayed hidden, though. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Hey, Granger," he muttered. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

Hermione glared at him. "Why do you care?"

Draco rolled his eyes, and, to her surprise and shock, sat down beside her on the bench. "I don't for the most part," he replied evenly. "Are you going to answer or what?"

She scowled. "Anything wrong with wanting a little solitude?"

He simply raised an eyebrow. "Did I say you were doing anything wrong?" he asked irritably. "I was just curious." He looked away from her and stared at the lake, his hands jammed into his pockets and face emotionless. She watched him for a moment, and he turned and looked at her again. "What?" he demanded.

She looked away. "Nothing." He raised an eyebrow again, but didn't say anything more. 

There was an uncomfortable, awkward silence, and they both looked away and back at each other on intervals. Finally, Hermione lost her patience and demanded, "What were _you_ doing?"

He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it quickly. "None of your business," he answered shortly. He got to his feet and glared at her for a moment, apparently arguing to himself about something, then reached into his back pocket, pulled something out and tossed it to her. It was a small book. "Read the section on curses," Draco instructed, then walked away.

Hermione looked the book over. It was bound in black leather, and the pages were old, crumbling yellow parchment, the writing black and loopy. The silver embossed title proclaimed it to be _The Complete Grimoire of Curses and Hexes_. Hermione frowned. Why on Earth would Draco want her to read that? But she put the book in her pocket, resolving to read it later.

It was after dinner when Hermione actually sat down on her bed and opened the book to the section of curses. She cringed. There were some extremely unpleasant spells in this volume. The Flame Body curse, that burned you alive from the inside out, a curse to make you dismember yourself, several possessions… he list went on and on. She scanned the descriptions, skimmed them, just to be dine and say she'd read it- then stopped.

She was near the end of the chapter, and the curses here were fabulously complex. It was getting to the point where it was almost interesting- but no, she didn't want interest in these things. But then a particular spell caught her eye.

The Malady curse. It was more than a few mumbled words and a wave of a wand. The completion of it required a blood of the victim, blood of the Dark Artist, blood of a Dementor, and dust from an old battlefield. _Boil until formed into thick paste_, she read. _Anoint subject's eyes, ears and forehead with mixture. Point wand at back of subject's head and say "_Malleus_". _The spell would result in intense pain, illness and gradual possession.

Hermione put the book down. There was at least another paragraph still on the topic, but she couldn't read it. It sounded too familiar.

__

Oh, God, she thought desperately. _Ron!_

'


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Another day passed. A week. I was almost a month since Ron had left, and still they had heard nothing from him. No word from the hospital, except that he wasn't allowed visitors. She had asked Professor McGonagall if his parents had been notified, and the teacher had promptly changed the subject. She, Parvati and Lavender had been harrying the Ministry about looking for Harry and Ginny, but had received no productive responses.

__

Is this what a black hole feels like? Hermione wondered one night as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. _You just keep going down and you can't come back out or even stop? Is there nothing you can do?_ She turned over and looked at the clock. One thirty in the morning. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. _Can't you fight it at all? Does it make a difference, or does it just make things worse?_

Classes during the past few weeks had been torture. She couldn't concentrate at all, and it seemed like all her teachers were overly tense. Hermione thought that if she passed her mid-term exam, it would be a miracle. 

It was after dinner one night in December, and Hermione was wandering around outside on the grounds, looking at the lights that adorned the trees and the decorations that had been put up. She was almost cheerful- unusual for her, these days- when she heard a voice behind her hiss, "_Mudblood!_"

She spun around and saw Pansy Parkinson standing behind her, flanked by Millicent Bluesdoe and Blaise Zabini. Hermione raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Mudblood," Pansy repeated. Paused. Then spoke again. "Did you hear the latest news about your _boyfriend_?"

Hermione blinked. "News?"

Blaise stepped forward, rolling her eyes. "_News_, Muggle. More rumors." Her eyes glittered evilly, and Hermione narrowed her own and took a step back.

"What news?" she asked harshly. "What are you saying?"

Pansy looked interested. "You don't know?" She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. "Well, if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."

Hermione snorted. "I'm not sure I _want_ to know," she retorted. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to my dorm." And she pushed past them and walked the long walk back to the Gryffindor tower.

She sat on her bed, not doing anything, just staring at the wall, legs crossed and hands on her knees. She tried not to think about what Pansy had said. The last thing she needed was more news that Ron was a criminal or something. She closed her eys ad tried to shove thoughts of Pansy out of her head.

__

Oh, Angel

I feel it's not you.

Angel

I wish it were not true.

And as I walk to the beat of my heart inside, I feel like letting go.

Oh darling now, in my dreams you'll be tonight…

What on Earth more could possibly happen to her. Hadn't fate struck at Hermione and her friends enough? _Pansy must be trying to work me up, _she thought desperately. _She doesn't mean it. She's just trying to make me believe things that aren't true._

Oh, Mr. Postman

Give me a sign.

Tell me you've a letter

To make me feel fine.

Oh, don't you know, I am waiting here for you.

Tell me it will be here tonight.

I should get dressed for bed, Hermione thought. It was well past nine o'clock, and she had school in the morning. Anything to keep her from thinking about this.

__

Baby

It's the way that I feel.

Baby

My heart it won't conceal.

And as I walk to the beat of my heart inside, I feel like letting go.

Oh darling now, in my dreams you'll be tonight.

She reached for her tee shirt, to pull it off and put on her jammies, but stopped as Parvati came around the corner, looking grim.

"Hermione?" Parvati called, not seeing her.

"I'm right here," Hermione said quietly. "What is it?"

Parvati walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down. "Professor McGonagall wants to see you," she informed her. "She's waiting in the common room."

Hermione sighed and stood up. _Now what?_

Oh, Mr. Postman

Give me a sign.

Tell me you've a letter

To make me feel fine.

Oh, don't you know, I am waiting here for you.

Tell me it will be here tonight.

The professor was standing at the foot of the stairs, tapping her foot impatiently. She smiled gently when she saw her student, though. "Ah, Hermione," she said. "Please follow me, there is something I need to discuss with you."

Hermione frowned, but followed the professor to a secluded corner of the room where no one would overhear them and sat down. "Yes?" she asked.

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, then shut it quickly. She watched Hermione for a moment, without saying anything. She seemed to be arguing with herself. She finally stood up and offered a hand to Hermione. "Come with me, my dear," she said quietly. "There is someone here to see you."

She took the offered hand, and McGonagall pulled her out of her seat. She followed the teacher through the many hallways, taking in the newly added Christmas decorations. They were so _cheerful_, and it almost made her sick. How could people possibly be happy in a situation like this? She and Professor McGonagall turned corners, climbed countless stairways, until Hermione was sure they would walk right out the top of the school at any moment, when the professor stopped walking.

They were in a small hallway, containing about ten doors. A plaque above the door read "Guest Wing". Hermione frowned. Who on Earth would be meeting with her in a guestroom?

Professor McGonagall opened the first door and ushered Hermione inside. She looked around. It was much like a Muggle hotel room in many ways. A double bed in the center, a chest of drawers, a writing desk- no television, of course- and an adjoining bathroom. She glanced around the room for the visitor, but found no one. She turned to McGonagall. "Professor, who-"

But McGonagall held up a hand and back out of the room, closing the door behind her. Hermione was alone.

"Hello?" she called. "Who's there?"

He stepped out from behind the bed, where he had been sitting, drawing in his sketchbook, making her jump.

"I told you I'd come back," he said, amused.

__

Dear God.

It was Ron. 

'


	21. Chapter 20

Part Three

Chapter Twenty

For whatever reason, Hermione's heart twisted painfully in her chest, and she placed a hand over her mouth to keep in the scream. "Oh, God," she whispered. Why had Ron come to see her _here_? Why not go back to his own rooms? This was not good, this could not be good…

Ron looked sour as he watched her gasp. "I won't touch you," he said finally. "You can tie me to a chair if it makes you feel better." He sat down in one of the large armchairs and held out his hands. "I'm unarmed."

That shut her up. "What?" she asked, bewildered. "What do you mean?"

His eyes widened in surprise. "You don't know?" he asked curiously. "You haven't heard?"

"Haven't heard what?" she replied harshly. Pansy's words rang in her ears. _"Did you hear the latest news about your boyfriend, Mudblood?" Oh, dear Lord, what now?_

Ron sighed and stood up. "Well," he said uncertainly. ""I guess it's better that you don't know just yet. It'll be easier for me to tell you." He walked over to Hermione and stood in front of her, so close that they were almost touching. She stared at his face, worried. He looked so thin. And pale, like he hadn't been out of doors in weeks. He reached out one hand and lightly touched her cheek. She closed her eyes and let him put his arms around her and pull her to him. She wound her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shirt. He smelled so good- shampoo and mandarin oranges.

"I missed you so much," Ron whispered in her ear. "I almost ran away from the hospital just to see you, or talk to you. Or just watch you. You _listen_ to me, you don't just look at me like I'm some sort of nutcase." He stroked the back of her head, winding her ponytail around his hand.

She blinked tears out of her eyes and sniffed. "Why did you come to see me up here?" she asked. "Why not just come back and see everyone?"

He squeezed her, then let her go quickly, stepping away from her. "It's a long story," he said without emotion. Then he brightened. "But I've go lots of time. Sit down, make yourself comfortable," he added sarcastically, gesturing to a chair opposite him.

She sat slowly. "What's going on?" she asked quietly, almost whispering. She was almost afraid to know the answer. 

Ron sighed heavily, his hands in his hair, pulling his face into odd shapes. "I guess I'll start at the beginning," he said finally. "Do up your seatbelt, sit back and enjoy the ride." He stared at her for a moment, then opened his mouth and began speaking.

"It all got kicked off in August, about three weeks before school started. When the Death Eater found me, and took me to Voldemort. But you know that story. In fact, you know the whole story up until I left. So I'll start up at when I got to the hospital.

"They stuck me in my own room, no roommates and no visitors. I guess they didn't really know what to do with me. Didn't know if I was actually sick or just mad. Besides, they didn't want me bothering the other patients. So, I got my own room. It really sucked. The only person I ever saw was the doctor or anyone on TV. Yes, they had a TV. Don't ask me why.

Anyway, cut from contact, I didn't really know what was going on. All I could do was sit aroud, draw, read, and wait for the attacks to come. And they came, all right. Got up to five hours at a shot, I'm told. They had a potion they'd give me to put me to sleep, so I wouldn't feel the pain. I could still feel it pretty well, though, and the dreams they induced were none too pretty. And boy, did it ache like hell when I woke up. Some kind of side effect from sleeping through it, I guess. 

"About three weeks ago, I started noticing that the doctors were looking at me oddly. Suspiciously. They didn't say anything, of course. Too damned polite. But they shot me weird looks, and they were always whispering about something. I didn't get it. What on Earth more could possibly go wrong? But, exactly one week after that, a bunch of guys from the Ministry showed up and carted me off with them. They didn't say why, it was just, 'You're going with these guys, now.' 

"So, off I went. Now, let me tell you, the Ministry people are brilliant when it comes to politics- well, most of them- but they no absolutely nothing about medicine. Didn't even clue in to put me to sleep when the attacks came. Therefore, I got to stay awake through the whole thing. They just stood around. I think I passed out a couple of times though, so that's a blessing. But still, no one tells me what's going on.

"One day I lost my temper and just yelled at them to tell me what the hell was going on. That was two days ago. They told me basically this:

"The spell I was placed under- the Malady Curse- has a funny little twist that is often not mentioned. After a certain period of time being under it, the victim begins to give off the aura of a Dark Artist. They absorb darkness. Suspicion grows around them, and even just saying their name can arouse it. That's how the rumors started, you know, people feeling the gradual building of evil in me. In any case, the doctors noticed it, and they sent me off to the Ministry for holding and questioning. I made them nervous.

"So I sat around the Ministry building for a while, and everyone started to get their own ideas about me. Rumors spread like wildfire. _'You know that kid they've got up there in the Department for Dark Research…'_ You get the idea. I never heard any of them, and I think Dumbledore must have blocked the school from the news, so you never heard them.

"So, when I asked them to give me the truth, they gave it to me. They thought I was evil or something. The rumors had become fact. It was all over the papers that I had sold Harry and Ginny to Voldemort in exchange for my lying ability. Now everyone thinks I've come back for you."

Hermione sat there, speechless. What was she supposed to say? "So that's why you said I could tie you up," she breathed finally. "You thought I believed you were a Death Eater." She closed her eyes. "But how come _I _never felt it?" she asked. "I never noticed any of the darkness."

Ron frowned. "You did, in a way. You felt the pain of it when you touched me. But about not knowing it was _me_- I think it was that whole psychic thing. Lavender told me about it before I left. Said I had the right to know. Anyway, I think that let you see through the curse. So you just couldn't see the darkness."

She frowned. "But- now that they know about the curse and its effects, can't they just say that they were wrong and let you go?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "You know Fudge, Hermione," he said sarcastically. "Doesn't like to admit that he's wrong. Therefore, no, I doubt I'll be released anytime soon."

She could feel him nudging the line. He was leaving something out. "Well, what are they going to do with you then? Keep you with the Ministry for the rest of your life? Toss you in Azkaban?" 

Ron got out of his seat and sat on the table in front of Hermione. "They told me you sent the book," he told her. "That's how they found out what the curse was." She nodded. "And you read it- you have to have read it to find the bit about the curse." She nodded again. "Then- then you ought to know where I'm going with this.." He trailed off when he noticed Hermione looking lost. "Did you read the section on Malady curses?" he repeated.

"I didn't read the whole thing," she said, suddenly remembering. "I only read the short term effects. I didn't read the rest. It was too hard." She looked straight at him, and saw that his eyes were very green. "Where are you going with this?" she asked, frightened. "It talked about possession. How much of the rumors are true? _Are_ you here to hurt me?"

He jumped to his feet, incredulous. "What? No, of course not!" He sat back down, frowning. "Well-"

"Well what?" Hermione whispered. "What are you saying?"

Ron closed his eyes, wincing as if she'd slapped him. "I'm not going to kill you, Hermione. I didn't come here to hurt you. But- I don't think the news that I have for you is going to make you especially happy."

She pressed back into her seat, but Ron pulled her out and made her stand in front of him. He held her tightly by the shoulders. "Hermione," he whispered. "Don't ever believe that I don't love you. I love you more than anything in the entire world, Hermione. I would give my life if it meant saving yours. Always remember that."

She could feel the tears coming, and she blinked them back. "What are you saying?" she whispered, so quiet that she could barely even hear herself. "What are you trying to tell me?"

He let go of her and looked down. "It's the punchline of the whole thing, Hermione," he said flatly. "Aside from pain, illness and insanity, the Malady Curse also results in eventual death." He paused. "I'll be dead be noon tomorrow." 

'


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One

Hermione collapsed. Her knees actually buckled, and she would have fallen, but Ron caught her and held her up. He wrapped an arm around her waist and held her tightly as she fought to retain her breath.

"No," she whispered hysterically. "It's not true, it can't possibly be true…" Ron stroked her hair and whispered soothingly in her ear. He eased her back into her chair and squatted in front of her, holding both her hands between his. 

"It's not true," she whispered firmly, after a long pause.

"It is," he replied.

"Then they lied to you." She raised her head to look at him, but he shook his head.

"I believe them. You've never felt the curse, Hermione. I can feel it killing me." He pushed a couple of strands of hair out of her face and sighed. "I wish I didn't have to be the one to tell you this," he whispered.

Hermione took a few deep breaths. It wasn't true, it couldn't be true. "Why are you here?" she asked, and he leaned forward to hear her. "Why did you come back?"

Ron closed his eyes. "I promised you I'd come back. So I came back." He sighed again. "This- this is private Ministry information, Hermione. You have to realize that. You can't tell anyone what I just told you. They told me I was allowed to see one person before I died. I would have gone to see my mum or dad, but I promised you. They can hear it from the Ministry." His voice broke suddenly, and he looked down. "Try to understand, Hermione, please."

"Understand what?" she asked harshly. "What's there to understand? Harry's gone, Ginny's gone. You're going to be gone. My whole damned life is falling apart!"

Ron's features sharpened suddenly. "And what of me?" he demanded, angry. "You're only losing three people. I'm losing _everything_. Don't you get it? Everything and every_one_ that I love, I have to leave behind. I'll have _nothing_!" He choked. "Understand, dammit!"

He stood up and turned away, walking over to the window, not saying anything. Hermione sat in her chair, hiccuping, trying to stop the tears. She finally got to her feet and stood beside Ron at the window. The wind pounded at the glass, spraying snow in every which direction, sparkling in the distant light of the fire.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Ron asked quietly. He reached out and traced a line under her eye, over her ear and down the back of her neck with one finger. He turned to face her, and she shivered.

"Hermione," Ron whispered. "You know I love you. I've told you, I've shown you and you've felt it. You _know_." He was talking so quietly that he may as well have just mouthed the words, yet she could hear him perfectly. His eyes bore hole through her and into her skull, but she didn't look away. 

"You know dark magic," Ron said. "It's fed by hate, fear and anger. But nothing fuels it more than the anger of loving someone, and knowing that they don't love you back."

Hermione gaped at him. "But-"

He cut her off. "You never said anything to make me believed you loved me, Hermione" he whispered. "All the time I've known you, you've never told me you loved me."

She tried to speak, but found that she couldn't get the words out. _Love you? Ron, you have no idea how much I love you, how much I need you…_

"Ron," She finally choked out. "Of- of course I do. What ever made you think I didn't?"

"Say it," Ron whispered fiercely.

"Ron, I-"

"_Say it!_" he hissed at her.

He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, opening them again quickly. "I-" she whispered. "I love you, Ron."

__

Do you still remember

How we used to be?

Feeling together, believing whatever

My love has said to me

He choked and let go of her, and she could see him struggling to keep control of himself. "Ron," she whispered, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder.

Ron looked back up at her, and his hands went to her face. Hermione closed her eyes as he pressed his forehead to hers. Moving one hand down to circle her waist. "I almost wish you hadn't said that," he whispered huskily, kissing her forehead. "Before, I thought at least I didn't have much to leave behind." He kissed her temple and her cheek. Oh, how it felt good to have his lips on her skin again. "Now I know that I'm leaving you here and- oh, God, Hermione…" He kissed her nose and her eyelid, and trailed down until he was a centimeter away from her mouth. She could feel his breath on her face, and he hovered there for a moment, his breath ragged in anticipation.

__

Both of us were dreamers

Young love in the sun

Felt like my savior, my spirit I gave ya

We'd only just begun

She ran her hands up his chest and around his neck, and he pulled her closer. 

"Hermione," Ron whispered huskily. His hand stroked her cheek, and ran over her ear to the back of her neck. "I love you so much."

She could feel the tears coming, trickling out of her eyes and down her cheeks. Ron kissed her tears, then her forehead, leaving the salty liquid between her eyebrows. "Don't cry, Hermione, please," he whispered in her ear. "I don't want this to be my last image of you." He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. 

"How long are you here?" Hermione whispered into the fabric of his shirt. It was rough against her face, but strangely comforting.

"It's ten now," he replied quietly. "They'll be back to get me at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Twelve hours," she whispered. Yesterday, twelve hours would have been forever. But now it wasn't nearly enough. Only twelve hours more with Ron, and then she would never see him again.

__

Hasta Manana

Always be mine

Ron opened his eyes and looked at her, and she stared right back. He seemed to swim there in her eyes for a moment. Then he brushed a strand of hair out of her face, bent down, and kissed her mouth.

__

Viva forever, I'll be waiting

Everlasting, like the sun. 

Live forever, for the moment.

Ever searching, for the one…

It was a gentle kiss at first. Soft, loving, and almost hesitant. But then, the months of fear, worry and desperation kicked in, and the kiss intensified. Hermione trembled as Ron's tongue teased hers, and she savored the taste of him, trying to seal it into her brain. He tightened his arms around her waist, and bent more to get closer to her. And she surrendered.

__

Yes, I still remember

Every whispered word

The touch of your skin giving life from within

Like a love song that I heard

Kissing Ron, holding him, even just being near him, had always felt unfathomably perfect. As though nothing on the world could possibly make her feel more loved, more cherished. Like she belonged there. She was used to that, to the point where she expected it.

Now, though, as she kissed him, standing on tiptoe to get as close to Ron as possible, Hermione realized that it didn't feel perfect anymore. Something was missing, something wasn't being fulfilled. Ron tightened his hold on her, apparently feeling it, too. His fingers pried the elastic out of her hair, and it cascaded down her back like a waterfall. She pressed up against him as his fingers ran through her hair.

He pulled away for a moment and kissed her ear. "Hermione," he whispered her name like a prayer, putting all his soul into that one word. She pulled him back to her lips, and he kissed her passionately. She could feel his love and hunger for her, matching her own feelings for him.

__

Slipping through our fingers

Like the sands of time

Promises made, every memory saved as

Reflections in my mind

Twelve hours. Twelve hours was all she had to memorize him, to absorb his every aspect. The panic that filled her was like that that you feel when you realize you haven't studied for the final exam, and the test is in two hours. His hands drew weird patterns up and down her back, and he pulled her even closer. But she could tell that it still wasn't right. Then she felt a surge of passion- from Ron or herself, she wasn't certain- and lost control.

__

Hasta Manana

Always be mine

She felt her fist tighten around a handful of Ron's tee shirt, and without any furthur thought, she pulled it over his head. Ron broke the kiss just long enough to let the shirt pass, then pulled her back. She ran her hands up his bare chest and around his neck as he unbuttoned her sweater. It slipped off her shoulders, unnoticed, leaving her in the camisole shirt she had changed into after dinner. 

__

Viva forever, I'll be waiting

Everlasting, like the sun. 

Live forever, for the moment.

Ever searching, for the one…

They stumbled backwards, and she felt her legs collide with the edge of the bed. Ron eased her gently onto her back, and carried himself down over her, still kissing her with indescribable passion. Hermione pulled him down on top of her, her hands sliding through his fiery hair in a vain attempt to memorize it. 

Ron wrapped his arms around her waist, pushing her back onto the pillows. He caressed her back feverishly, pulling the fabric along with his fingers, stretching it into odd shapes. He paused once, with his hands resting on the hem- waiting, asking- then slid his hands up the back of her shirt. He breath shortened at his touch, and she sat up slightly, resting her weight on one elbow.

Ron started to move his hands around to the front of her torso, then stopped. He pulled away from her mouth and rolled of her. "No," he whispered. "We can't." 

Hermione just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the fire drain from her body like pop from a spilled can. She rolled over into Ron's side, feeling the tears well up again and spill from her eyes, trickling down his shoulder. He turned his head and looked at her, brushing her tears away with a finger.

"Why not?" she demanded finally. "Ron, I'm never going to see you again." The words tasted foul and bitter in her mouth. She wanted to spit. 

"Hermione," Ron whispered pleadingly. "We- we're too young for this to be happening to us. But it is. But that doesn't mean we can just go and do whatever- oh, Lord, Hermione. Please."

He leaned over into her and kissed her again, pulled her onto his chest. He ran his hands through her hair- so neat a few minutes ago but a tangled mess, now. But he pushed her away again. "No," he whispered fiercely, more to himself than to her.

"Ron," she whispered, so quiet she could barely hear herself. "Ron, please."

He pushed her gently on to her back and lay on his side, looking at her. "No," he whispered. "There's too much that could go wrong. It doesn't feel right, Hermione. I'm going to be dead tomorrow, but this could affect the rest of your life. You could get pregnant, or- or- just try to see it from my point of view."

She sighed. "You're right," she whispered, feeling even more tears on the way. He pulled her onto his chest, and wound his arms around her waist, holding her tightly. She lay across him, feeling the shuddering breaths rippling through his body.

"You know what today is?" Ron asked as he stroked her back.

"What?" she asked. 

"December fifteenth," he replied. "It was exactly two years ago today when I kissed you for the first time." He reached down and grabbed the covers, pulling them up over the two of them.

Hermione smiled in spite of herself, remembering how happy she had been on that day. "It seems like so long ago," she whispered. "Like decades."

Ron smiled into her hair. "I can remember," he said. "Sometimes feeling like my life was like a little rowboat stuck out in the middle of the ocean, drifting all over the place. When I kissed you, it was like one little piece of the puzzle fell into place. Like I was destined to have done it all along, and it just clicked." He stroked her hair and tightened his arms around her. "That was a long time ago."

__

But we're all alone, now

Was it just a dream?

Feelings unfold, they will never be sold 

And the secret safe with me…

Hermione closed her eyes and willed the tears to save themselves for later. "I love you, Ron," she whispered.

"I know," he replied quietly. "To be honest, I think I always did."

She buried her face in his shoulder, overwhelmed. She knew Ron was right about not sleeping with her. There were so many things that could go wrong. She was smart, she always knew what the right answer was.

Just this once, though, she wished she could have been wrong.

'


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty Two

Even when she came around again, Hermione knew that she was still sleeping. Dreaming, but still asleep. She couldn't see anything, her "eyes" were closed, but she didn't want to. She wanted to stay asleep forever, never wake up, just so long as Ron didn't have to leave.

She finally sighed and opened her eyes. Her body was in the bed across the room, lying across Ron's chest, the covers down around both their waists. Ron had his arms around her waist, and she had one hand on his shoulder, the other curled up underneath her. Hermione stared for a moment- it was decidedly odd to see your_self_ in front of you- and realized that she could vaguely feel Ron's arms around her, and his skin against her face and hands.

Ron stirred and opened his eyes. He just stared at Hermione for a moment, then reached up and smoothed her hair. She could feel that, too, even from her post beside the window. She ached to walk over and touch him, or to wake up, but she couldn't do either. She just watched as Ron ran his hand down her neck to her back, finally letting it rest between her shoulder blades. He wrapped his arm around her waist again, and held her tightly, face against her hair.

Hermione screamed at herself to wake up, but no sound came from her. Her body twitched slightly, though, and squirmed fitfully in Ron's arms. He noticed, and stroked her hair again, whispering comfortingly in her ear. It calmed her, even from across the room. 

Ron finally looked away from her after some time, and picked up his watch from the small table beside the bed. Hermione could just barely read it from where she was standing. Nine thirty. Ron swore quietly and replaced it. He cautiously eased her off his chest, careful not to wake her, and lay her gently down beside him. He stared at her for a moment, then sighed, pulled back the covers, and got out of bed.

He walked over to a small desk in the corner of the room, and took out a quill and a sheet of paper. She watched silently as he wrote enough to fill the page, then returned the quill in the drawer. He reached into his back pocket and pulled something out- she couldn't tell what it was- and placed it on top of the paper.

Hermione watched as he got up from the desk, and her eyes followed him along the wall until he went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. She heard the shower start, and looked back at the window. It was grey and dismal outside, and the snow was still coming down heavily. She watched it fall, silent.

The sound of the shower stopped, and shortly afterwards, Ron emerged from the bathroom, wearing a pair of white boxer shorts, and his red hair darkened and dripping from the water. He pulled a pair of white pants and a plain white tee shirt out of a bag beside the bed. He pulled the pants on, then walked over to stand in front of the mirror, and stared at his reflection. Hermione longed desperately to go and stand beside him, to put a hand on his shoulder- _anything._

Her body stirred in the bed, and Ron looked over at her. He closed his eyes, then pulled the shirt on, and walked over to where she lay and sat down beside her. he reached out and gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, smoothing her hair out of her face. 

He finally stood up and walked back to the desk. He picked up the paper with the token on it, and crumpled it up in his fist. Replacing it on the desk, he walked back over to the bed and just stood over her, watching her sleep. He reached down and smoothed the covers over her body.

There was a knock at the door, and Hermione looked sharply at the clock above the fireplace. It was ten o'clock. _Dammit!_ She screamed at herself to wake up, to wake up and get out of bed and scream and fight until they agreed not to take him. But all she got was a tiny twitch of the hand.

Ron opened the door, and three men in Ministry uniforms stepped into the room. Two of them looked unpleasant. They scowled at Ron- he scowled right back- and eyed her form in the bed suspiciously. Ron glared at them, and pulled back the covers from her body to reveal that she was indeed dressed. They simply grunted and went back to their whispered conversation.

The third man- a boy really, he couldn't have been more than nineteen- approached Ron cautiously. That must be the intern that Ron had told her about last night before they went to sleep. Jeffery, his name was. He walked up beside Ron, and gently put a hand on his shoulder. 

"That your girlfriend?" Jeffery asked quietly.

Ron sighed and closed his eyes. "Yeah," he replied.

Jeffery was silent for a moment. "She's beautiful," he said finally.

Ron opened his eyes again, and stared at her. "Yeah," he said again.

"All that you have to leave behind, huh?" Ron nodded. Jeffery sighed and squeezed his shoulder. "I wish there was some way around this, man," he whispered. "Some way to make this work for you. I'm sorry."

Ron pulled away from him and walked over to the desk, picking up the crumpled note, then returned to the bed. He gently pried one of Hermione's hands open, placed the note inside, and closed her fingers around it again. He squatted beside her, took her hand between his, and kissed it. _Wake up_, she screamed at her self. _For God's sake, wake up!_ It was no use. He stood up and walked over to the door. One of the men took his bag, jerking his head at Jeffery, who followed him out the door. The other roughly took Ron's arm.

Hermione blanched. This was the dream, the same dream that had haunted her sleep for two years. She watched, helpless. Ron's face was pale and set, and the man started to lead him out the door.

__

Ron! she tried to scream, but… He turned. He looked over his shoulder, and stared right at the spot where she was standing. Something of a frown crossed his face, as thought he could actually see her standing there, an he opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and turned back around as the man yanked his arm. He looked ahead of him once again, and kept on walking. The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in her ears…

Her eyes snapped open, just as they always did when the door closed. But this time, it was real. 

'


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty Three

The first thing that Hermione noticed when she woke up was the usual disorientation that encompasses a sleeper upon awaking. For a moment, she forgot where she was, and actually thought that all of last night had been a dream. But then, she felt the note against her palm, and realized that she would have to get up.

She glanced around the room, taking in the setting. It was still snowing outside, but now the snow appeared wet and heavy. The clock read 10:07. Hermione sighed and closed her eyes again. She didn't want to get up. She wanted to go back to sleep and forget that any of this had happened.

The feel of the notepaper against her skin brought Hermione back to reality. She rubbed her eyes with one hand, and sat up slightly on her elbow. She unfolded the crumpled paper, and the object that Ron had left fell out onto the sheets. 

It was a ring. A wide, pale gold band that fit perfectly her index finger. Carved on one side of the ring was an odd sigil. She frowned and looked at it more closely. She didn't recognize it, even from all her Ancient Runes studies. 

Tears stung the inside of her eyes, and she spread the paper out in front of her. Ron's messy scrawl jumped out at her from the page, shaky, like the hand that had written it had been trembling uncontrollably. She could almost hear his voice as she read.

__

Pixie,

I don't really know how to start here. There's an awful lot I want to tell you and will probably never get to say. But I guess the only legitiment thing to say here is this: I'm sorry. I'm sorry I had to hurt you, I'm sorry I had to leave you. I'm sorry you ever had to love me, because I don't deserve any of it. I'm sorry I have to leave while you're asleep, but I think if you wake up, I'll lose my sanity. Hell, it's threatened as it is.

I have no idea what I ought to say now, that done with. I could tell you how much I love you, or how beautiful you are. I could describe the way your hair shines in the torchlight, the way your eyes shine by themselves, when you look at me. But that would start to sound like the kind of Harlequin Romance junk that my mum reads, and that would be cheap.

I bought the ring a long time ago. About a week before school started. I don't know why. Maybe I'm more clairvoyant than I think I am. The symbol on it is the Norse runes for "R" and "H" entwined. I hope you wear it, but I'd understand if you don't.

I'm not asking you to wait for me or anything. I seriously doubt I'll ever have a chance to come back. I just want you to remember me. I want you to be happy, and if that means finding somebody else to love you, so be it. With any luck, you'll grow up and raise little chestnut-haired, cinnamon-eyed children with a man who loves you all as much as I love you. I hope you get all of that and more, because it's all you deserve.

Forgive me. Like I said, I'm absolute rubbish when it comes to words and language. I can't even begin to tell you what I'm trying to say. It all comes out garbled.

Love always, I don't care what happens,

Ron

P.S. Incidentally, that Harlequin Romance stuff I mentioned earlier? It's true, you know.

A tear trickled down her cheek and dropped off her chin. It hit her hand, and Hermione sniffled and wiped her eye. She turned the ring on her finger, and with a sigh, she folded the note back up and shoved it into her pocket. She then pulled back the covers and sat up.

Her vision clouded for a moment, and she put a hand to her head to keep herself from fainting. _Bugger_, she thought absently._ I got up too fast_. She stood up and got her balance, then walked over to the mirror and stared at it.

She looked horrible. Her eyes were still red and slightly puffy from crying, and her hair was a mess. Her shirt was twisted slightly around her body.

A draft crept through the room from the direction of the window, and she hugged her shoulders, shivering. Where was that sweater? It had to be in the floor somewhere. She felt around under the bed, wondering if maybe it had been kicked underneath. 

Hermione's fingers collided with something. It was a shirt. She pulled it out and held it up. It was Ron's tee shirt. He must have forgotten it while packing. She held it to her face and inhaled. It smelled like him.

She choked back a sob as she stood up, holding the shirt to her chest. Her sweater was lying on the floor beside the bed, and she pulled it on, yanking the hood up over her disheveled hair.

__

I'm never going to see him again. Ever. The realization chewed at her soul, nibbling away at any optimism that might be still clinging. Hermione looked at the ring again, fingering the etched runes on its surface.

A knock on the door brought her back to reality, and she silently opened it. Parvati was standing in the hallway. Hermione jumped when she saw her- Parvati was possibly the last person she expected to see right then- but didn't say anything.

"Feeling better?" Parvati asked kindly.

She frowned. "What?"

Parvati raised an eyebrow. "Professor McGonagall said that you slept up here because you weren't feeling well," she said. "She told me to come up and get you."

Hermione closed her eyes. "Oh- yeah, I guess so." She followed Parvati through the hallways back to the common room. They sat down in front of the fire with the others, and she curled up in her chair, shutting out everyone else. She half-listened to the conversations around the room, not really paying attention to any of them.

"Hmm?" Hermione asked absently, realizing that Lavender's last question had been directed to her. "What did you say?"

Lavender rolled her eyes. "I _said,_ when do you think Ron is coming back?"

__

Well, if that isn't the worst possible question you could ask me right now, she thought wryly. She laughed. She laughed so hard it almost hurt, each breath tearing through her lungs like racecars at the Grand Prix. She leaned over in her chair, putting her head between her knees, laughing like the world would end tomorrow.

Parvati reached out and touched Hermione's shoulder, and she raised her head. She didn't know if she was laughing or crying anymore, and tears stream down her cheeks onto her sleeves.

"Hermione?" Lavender asked tentatively.

"He's not coming back," Hermione said hoarsely. "He's never coming back. He's dead. Ron's _dead_." She jumped to her feet and faced them all. "Don't talk to me," she whispered. "Don't come near me." She turned on her heel and ran up the stairs to her room, collapsing on her bed.

How long she lay there, crying out all the tears she had, trying to let him go and knowing she would never be able to, Hermione didn't know. She didn't notice when her sobs began to quiet, when she began to run out of tears. It just occurred to her at one point that she wasn't crying anymore, just lying on a damp pillow, staring at the wall with a headache she wouldn't wish upon her worst enemy. 

"Hermi?"

She looked around and saw Lavender turn the corner into the room. She sat up and leaned against the headboard, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "I'm OK," she said quietly.

Lavender walked over and sat on the side of the bed. "You are not," she replied. "People who are all right don't go postal on their friends and run off sobbing."

Hermione shuffled forward on the bed and lay back on the pillows, defeated. "I'm not OK." she whispered. A moment ago, she would have thought that she had cried all she possibly could, but apparently she was wrong. Tears welled up behind her eyelids again, and ran down her cheeks. "Why did he have to leave?" she whispered quietly.

Lavender put her arms around her friend, and Hermione rested her head on her shoulder. Lavender didn't say anything, as Hermione silently cried into her shoulder, just hugged her and stroked her hair. 

"You loved him, didn't you?" Lavender asked at last.

Hermione sniffled and wiped her eyes. "Yes," she whispered. "Oh, God, Lavender, you have no idea what this feels like." She pulled away and lay down on the bed.

Lavender sighed and leaned against the wall. "You weren't sick last night, were you?"

She blinked back more tears and chewed her knuckle. "No."

"You were with Ron?"

She blushed. "Yes."

Lavender paused for a moment. "Were you- did you…"

Hermione closed her eyes. "We didn't sleep together," she said flatly. "Well- we did _sleep_ together, literally, but we didn't _do _anything. Do you get my drift?"

Lavender raised an eyebrow. "You didn't do _anything_? Nothing at all? You just talked a bit and then fell asleep? Do you expect me to believe that?"

Hermione rolled over. "Do I have to give you the play-by-play?"

Lavender sighed and looked away. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I guess I'm in shock." She was silent for long enough to let a cloud pass, then said, "I do have some good news."

"And what's that?" Hermione asked, sitting up slowly.

She was silent again. Then she sighed and pushed hair out of her face. "I got a letter from the Ministry of Magic. They're going looking for Harry and Ginny tomorrow." 

'


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty Four

Hermione was dreaming again, and she knew it. It felt the same as it always had. But- something was different. It wasn't the same place.

She looked around, taking in her surroundings for the first time. It was outside, this time. In a forest, with the sun just beginning to poke through the treetops. She turned and looked around wildly. Why was she here? What was the significance of this?

A sound from behind her made her spin around. Behind her was a rise in the landscape, and the forest stopped at the bottom of a small hill, and just coming over the rise was-

Harry and Ginny.

Harry Potter and Virginia Weasley rounded the top of the hill, Harry holding Ginny's arm and shoulder, leading her along. The bottom of Ginny's shirt was torn, and the fabric tied around her eyes. She stayed close behind Harry, letting him lead her along.

As the sun cast a bright ray across Ginny's face, she stopped and held Harry back. She stood still and just let the sun kiss her face. Then she opened her mouth and started to sing.

__

"High in the sky

Through the clouds and rain

Every familiar field seems like an old friend.

When every hand that you shake

Is like a warm embrace

Could only be one sweet place

Home and the Heartland."

Hermione watched, aghast, as Ginny grabbed Harry's hand and began running down the hill. He was laughing, and cried out, "Wait, Gin, you'll trip on something!" But she just kept running and singing.

__

"Sing out your songs and

Bring out your stories and rhymes.

Weave from your dreams the mystical dances that lead us to 

Bind in heart and mind."

They ran past her, and she spun to watch them go. Harry was ahead, now, pulling Ginny along, holding her up so that she wouldn't fall. Ginny's voice was slightly halting from running, and every now and then she would stop and laugh, but she kept singing.

__

"As we circle the world 

With our wandering airs

Gathering here and there, leaving behind our share

Like the leaves in the wind

They are blown along

Melodies rising from

Home and the Heartland."

And as they faded from view, Hermione just caught the last strains of the song.

__

"Sing out your songs…"

The scene changed just then, so fast it made her head spin. Hermione looked around again. Where was she now? It looked like just a room. A very plain, beige, absolutely-no-decorations-allowed room, but a room. She frowned. What was this?

She turned around. And almost fell over. Ron was lying n a bed behind her. He was either asleep or dead, because he wasn't moving. She took a couple of deep breaths to get her bearings straight, the moved closer to get a better look.

He wasn't wearing a shirt, but he was still wearing the same white pants she had seen him in last. Was he breathing? She tried to see, but she wasn't close enough, and couldn't get any closer.

He moved. He kind of sighed and turned over. Hermione jumped slightly. She hadn't expected _that_. _Well_, she thought. _At least now we know for sure he's not dead. Not yet, anyway._ He did nothing more, so she just stood there watching him.

It was some time later when she started to notice herself being pulled back into sleep. Normally she would have protested, but today she simply hadn't the energy. The image before her faded, and she found herself back in her bed at school, slightly trapped in the covers.

"Oh, God," Hermione moaned. She detangled herself from the sheets, then rolled over to get a look at her clock. It was three-thirty in the morning. What was the date? She poked around in the dark for her calendar. December nineteenth. Ron would have been dead for three days, now. Three days since the Ministry began the search for Harry and Ginny. No results yet, of course. They hadn't looked where Lavender had told them to, yet.

__

But the dream, Hermione thought suddenly. _Are they still at the castle? _She stared at the wall. _Oh, probably. It's not like my dreams are written-in-stone truth, after all. What are the chances of them getting out of a place like that, anyway?_

What about Ron? her brain demanded. _Did that mean nothing to you? Don't you feel any hope or _anything_?_

Wishful thinking, she retorted. _No one says that one was true._

She wished the voice in her head was a mosquito, as opposed to her conscience. Then she could have smacked her ear and made it go away. But instead, all she could do was lie there in bed and argue with herself, hoping that the voice would shut up soon and let her get some rest. 

'


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty Five

It was very early the next morning when Hermione felt someone shaking her gently. She rolled over slightly, waving the hand away. Hadn't these people ever heard of sleeping in?

"Hermione, _wake up_!"

She rolled over completely and sat up. "What?" she asked, her voice muffled by the hand as she tried to push hair out of her face. She opened her eyes to both Parvati and Lavender standing beside the bed. 

"Get up," Lavender instructed. "We just got an owl from the Ministry. They found Harry and Ginny."

__

That woke her up. Hermione jumped out of bed and scrambled around the room trying to get dressed. "Where is my hairbrush?" she demanded frantically. "Where is my bloody hairbrush?" 

It was thrust into her hand by one of them- she didn't notice who- and she proceeded to attack her hair. _They found Harry_, she sang in her head. _They found Ginny._ _They found Harry and Ginny!_ She pulled her hair into an unruly ponytail, and spun to face her friends. "Well?" she demanded. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

She started to the door, but Lavender caught her by the arm and held her back. "They aren't here yet," she said. "They're coming by car."

Hermione frowned. "They're not here yet? Then why did you wake me up?" she turned back around and flopped on the bed.

"The Weasleys are here," she informed her. "They want to see you."

"Oh," she replied. "OK. Let's go, then."

When she reached the Great Hall, the Weasleys were all there. All of them, even Bill and Charlie. All except Ron and Ginny, of course. Hermione stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. But then she took a deep breath, and stepped forward to stand in front of Mrs. Weasley.

"Hi," she said. Her voice was barely louder than a bird chirping, but she knew Mrs. Weasley could hear her. She raised her head and looked at the woman, biting her lip at the pain she saw deep in Mrs. Weasley's eyes.

"Hello, dear," was all she said. Then, before Hermione had a chance to react at all, she had wrapped her up in a massive hug equaled only by enthusiastic grandmothers at Christmas time. Hermione felt the tears come as she hugged Mrs. Weasley, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

When she finally pulled away, Hermione knew she had tears running down her cheeks at an amazing rate. She looked around at Ron's brothers. Fred and George, whom she was used to seeing full of life and energy, both looked drained and joyless. Bill and Charlie were somber, and Mr. Weasley was simply sitting on a bench on one side of the room, his face tight and emotionless.

Fred stepped forward and offered Hermione a hand. "Ron said the two of you were together," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Hermione squeezed Fred's hand and hugged him. "The Ministry told you what happened?" she asked.

Mr. Weasley stood up at last, and brushed off his shabby cloak. "Yes, we got the whole story," he said bitterly. "If Fudge wasn't the Minister and guarded by twenty men…"

"Well-" Hermione started to say, but trailed off. She could just see a car coming up the road to the school, through the window in the front doors. A Ministry logo was emblazoned on the side door, and she could see someone in a uniform through the window. "They're here!" she cried, breaking away and running outside.

The man driving got out and opened the back door of the car. Ginny got out first, led by another man in uniform. She had been dressed in fresh clothes, and the shirt hem that had been around her eyes had been replaced by a clean black band. 

Harry followed shortly after. He, too, had been dressed in new clothes, and his hair had been cut back to its usual length. It was still as black as coal and as wild as a spring wind, but it looked more mature, now, somehow. He was about the same height as Hermione, which wasn't short for a boy, but not tall either. He reached out and took Ginny's hand, then turned to face everyone else.

Hermione finally found her energy, and ran over to stand in front of Harry.

She just stood there for quite a long moment, unsure of what she ought to say or do. He stared right back at her, raising an eyebrow. "Going to say anything?" he demanded finally.

Probably to her own shock as much as Harry's, Hermione threw hwer arms around Harry's neck and hugged him tightly. He laughed and hugged her back, letting go of Ginny to put both arms around her. She was laughing and crying all at the same time, and Harry spun her around and put her down again.

"You're OK," Hermione gasped finally. "Both of you, you're both OK." She reached out and grabbed Ginny, hugging her, too. Ginny laughed and returned the hug. Hermione finally took a step away to get a look at them. They both looked very thin and pale, but happy.

"We're OK," Harry affirmed, grinning. "If barely." He looked up and his grin widened at the sight of the sea of Weasleys that was pouring out of the front doors towards them.

The moment the Weasleys appeared on the scene, there was an immediate strong sense of family. Ginny had been wrapped up in a huge hug by all members of her family and, to Hermione's surprise, someone had reached out and pulled Harry into the lot with them. She remembered Harry saying in one of his letters that the Weasleys were beyond being a second family to him. They were his first family, now.

At some point, someone pulled Hermione into the fray, and she was hugging and being hugged with everyone else, forgetting all about dignity or the state of her clothes. She just let herself be wrapped up in this sea of love.

Well, the old saying, "what goes up must come down" holds true in all situations, and the good mood could not last. They were all starting to break apart, laughing and crying, and simply hugging whoever was in reach, when Harry suddenly looked around and asked, "Where's Ron?"

End good mood.

Everyone immediately sobered, and Harry looked around worriedly. "Well, where is he?"

Mr. Weasley looked up from his shoes, where his gaze had been fixed a moment before, and looked at Hermione. She had closed her eyes and was backing towards the doors slowly. He sighed and gestured foe her to go, and she dashed away. As she sped through the front doors, she just heard Mr. Weasley say to Harry and his daughter, "I think you'd better come inside to hear this." 

'


	27. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty Six

It was quite some time later when Hermione heard Harry coming into her room that afternoon. He came and sat down beside her on the bed, not saying anything.

Hermione was silent. She just lay there, not moving or even acknowledging Harry's presence at all. She hadn't been crying, but she felt rather drained just the same. It wasn't until he finally reached out and touched her shoulder that she actually sat up and looked at him.

"You got told the whole thing, then?" she asked quietly.

Harry nodded, but said nothing. He simply sat there beside her, staring at the wall.

"Who told you?" she asked.

He sighed. "Fred Weasley," he relied flatly. "You have no idea how weird it is to hear him sounding _serious._"

Hermione didn't reply. She stayed still for a moment, then rolled onto her back. "Well?" she finally demanded.

"I knew, I think," Harry said, unexpectedly. "When they took us to the Ministry building, there was a lot of talk about some Hogwarts student that was being held there. Or something."

"But you didn't know it was Ron," she paraphrased.

"No," he replied bitterly. "I had no idea it was Ron." 

Again they were silent. Hermione didn't know if she ought to say something to Harry, or just let him sort himself out on his own. She decided she had better be on the safe side and keep quiet.

"I guess you want to know how we got out?" Harry asked finally.

"It would help," she replied.

He sighed and looked at the wall. "You'll never believe it," he told her. "_I'm_ still doubtful. I keep thinking that I'll wake up in the cell again, and it'll all have been a bizarre dream." He paused again, as if waiting for her to comment, but she said nothing, so he continued.

"We had pretty much given up on ever getting rescued," he said. "No one knew where we were, and even if they did, they would never be able to get in. We were just waiting for someone to come and kill us." He smiled wryly. "We were _so_ optimistic.

"One day, about a week ago, someone just came up and, out of the blue, let us out. We thought we were dead, but he just said to follow him and keep our mouths shut if we wanted our lives. I think we were both convinced we were dreaming. The guy brought us through a bunch of passages, until we got to ground level.

"When we came out into the sunlight, it really hurt Ginny. We'd been in the dark for so long, the sudden light was too much for her eyes. That's why she's got the blindfold.

"Anyway, we managed to get ourselves stuck in the middle of a crowd of Death Eaters, which wasn't too smart, to say the least. Just managed to get out of it. Ginny did a pretty good job, actually, for a blinded kid. She just did the old 'point-and-stun' method, which worked great.

"We got out, which was amazing, and started to walk home through the Forbidden Forest. The Ministry guys found us there, a day later. I think it startled them." He stopped and looked at her. "You'll never guess who it was who let us out."

Hermione frowned. "Who?"

He grinned. "Draco Malfoy."

If she had been holding anything she would have dropped it right then. "You're kidding," she sputtered. "_Malfoy?!_ _He_ let you out? Why?"

"I have no idea," Harry replied. "When I asked him, he bit my head off. Basically said he wasn't doing it for me _or_ Gin, and to shut up."

They were both silent.

"How did you find out about… about the student who was… about Ron?" she asked haltingly.

"They held us at the Ministry building for a couple of days, like I said," Harry replied. "I overheard someone talking about it." He paused. "They didn't mention a name."

"And Ginny?" Hermione inquired.

"She'll live," he replied. "I hope her eyes are OK."

"Was there… anything… between the two of you?" she asked. She knew (as did almost everybody) that Ginny had adored Harry for years. And in their fifth year, Harry had pronounced that Ginny was "cute".

For the first time since he had learned about Ron, Harry smiled. "Not telling," he replied. "So there."

She was silent again, and Harry put a hand on her shoulder. She leant against him gratefully, and he put his arms around her, not saying anything, just letting her cry. 

'


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty Seven

Talking to Harry helped. It didn't completely cure her, but it helped. The Weasleys left a few days later, taking Ginny with them. It was Christmas, after all, and she wanted to be at home. Harry and Hermione were both invited, but Hermione thought that the Burrow would bring back too many memories, and Harry wanted to stay with her.

Gryffindor house felt very empty in the days leading up to Christmas. Almost everybody had gone home, as their parents still weren't convinced it was safe at school. This suited Hermione just fine- she wasn't in the mood for conversation.

For the first time in years, Hermione noticed that even Malfoy had gone "home" for the holidays. This didn't surprise her. She expected he was about as "home" as she was- he was likely at Voldemort's headquarters, polishing up his Death Eater training. She wondered irritably why no one recognized what danger he was in, or tried to help.

Draco Malfoy or no Draco Malfoy, she was still miserable. Every time she turned around, something was there to remind her of Ron. A shirt, a certain corridor… everything called up memories.. And with no one around, there was nothing to distract her.

Harry was very understanding. It seemed that the years had done wonders for his maturity. He knew when she needed him to talk, and he knew when she needed him to shut up. They actually didn't do a lot of talking, and if they did, it was just about the classes Harry and Ginny had missed.

It was Christmas Eve before she knew it, and here she was at school. It would be the third Christmas in a row that she would spend alone. Another Christmas spent miserable. 

__

The lamp, it's burning low upon my table top

The snow is softly falling

Hermione sat in one of the large chairs by the fire. It was around 11:45 on Christmas Eve, and the snow was coming down outside.

__

The air is still in the silence of my room

I hear your voice softly calling

__

Some Christmas I'm going to have, Hermione thought. _And it starts in, what, fifteen minutes?_ She glanced at the clock. Yes, about a quarter hour, and Christmas cheer would fill every soul. Every soul but her own.

__

If I could only have you near

To breathe a sigh or two

II would be happy just to hold the hands I love

On this winters night with you

Hermione's fingers twined around something that was sitting in her lap. It was Ron's shirt, which she still had. Usually, it stayed in the back of her clothes drawer, but, without noticing, she had brought it downstairs with her. She bit her lip and held it up in front of her, trying not to remember.

__

The smoke is rising in the shadows overhead

My glass is almost empty

She ached for him. Every sense in her body craved him, needed him. She wanted to see him, she wanted to hear his voice. She wanted to smell him, to taste him. To feel him against her. She needed to sense him again, the way she had gotten so good at doing. She needed him.

__

I read in between the lines upon each page

Words of love descending

This had to stop, or she would go mad. Hermione grabbed a book from off the floor beside her, and frantically tried to read. It was no use. The words blurred and ran together, and she couldn't make sense of it.

__

If I could know within my heart

That you were lonely, too

I would be happy just hold the hands I love

On this winters night with you

She finally threw the book onto the floor in disgust. There was nothing she could do but try to get some sleep. With a sigh, she curled up in her chair and closed her eyes.

__

The fire is dying, my lamp is growing dim

She opened her eyes some time later. The fire was reduced to faintly glowing embers, and a glance at the torches on the walls told her that they weren't any brighter.

__

Shades of night are lifting

Was the room brighter? What time was it?

__

Morning light steals across my windowpane

A warm beam of early sunshine touched her hand, and she looked out the window. The sky was clear.

__

Where whims of snow are drifting

Someone was coming down the stairs from the boys' dorm. It was Harry, carrying his presents from the Weasleys, as well as her own. _Bugger,_ Hermione thought absently. _I forgot to get him a gift._

__

If I could only have you near

To breathe a sigh or two

He sat down beside her, and laid her gifts on the table, but said nothing. From a pocket in his sweater, he produced an envelope. It had already been opened, she saw, but he placed it on top of the gifts for her.

__

I would be happy just to hold the hands I love

On this winters night with you…

"This was addressed to Dumbledore and McGonagall," Harry said finally, gesturing to the letter. "They read it, but they told me to give it to you." He handed it to her, and she looked the envelope over. The Ministry of Magic seal caught her attention, and she looked at the address again.

__

And to be once again with you…

Silently, she opened the envelope, unfolded the letter and read. 

'


	29. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty Eight

__

To Whom It May Concern:

A student of Hogwarts (namely Ron Weasley) was recently taken into the custody of the Ministry of Magic for questionable behavior. It was released that he was guilty of the charges against him, and he is supposed to have died. However, he is still living, and there seems to be no trace of illness in him.

We at the Ministry are forced to admit our mistake, and are therefore returning said student to school at 3:00 PM on Christmas Day.

Please accept our most humble apologies at the inconvenience. 

_Sincerely, _

Wolfgang Boozier

Minister, Magical Law Enforcement

She stared at the letter. Hermione stared blankly at the letter that she held in her hand. She couldn't believe it. Ron was _alive_?

Harry's voice cut into her stupor. "What does it say?"

"Ron's alive," Hermione whispered. "They're sending him back."

Harry was beside her in a moment, nabbing the letter and reading it frantically. "Oh my God," he whispered. Then he grinned. "It's two-thirty, Hermi," he said happily. "They'll be bringing him here in an hour!"

He jumped to his feet, and tried to pull her up. She didn't budge. "Hermione, come _on_!" She was still. "Come on, Hermi, what's wrong?"

Hermione said nothing. The feeling that she had- it reminded her of when she had first learned that Harry and Ginny were missing, or when Ron had told her that he was going to die. She was frozen. It seemed as though there was a shell around her that nothing could penetrate. Only- before, it had always been something _bad_. This was very different. She thought she ought to be jumping up and down, and dancing and singing, _at the very least_. But she only felt one thing: disbelief. Something in her refused to believe that Ron was alive. Something kept telling her to resist, and save herself the disappointment. 

She finally got up, still silent, and walked slowly up the stairs to her room, flopping face first on her bed. _The Fates are playing with me,_ she thought distractedly. _Like a cat plays with a mouse._ _I think I'll go and drown myself._ She got up, and promptly immersed herself in a hot shower.

How long she stayed in the shower, thinking her scattered thoughts, Hermione didn't know. But it seemed like a long time when she finally got out and got dressed. She looked at the clock when she got back to her room again. It was 3:15.

Silently, Hermione plodded down the stairs. Harry was waiting for her by the portrait hole, along with Dumbledore and McGonagall. No one said anything as they made their way through the hallways and out to the front of the school. They settled themselves on several benches to wait.

Hermione looked at her watch again. It was 3:30. _He should be here,_ she thought absently. Even now, her thoughts were detached and floaty. Without a word to either Harry or the Professors, she got up and began walking down the dirt path that led to Hogsmeade. That would be where they would take him, if he was really coming back.

The sun was beginning to set- it was winter, after all, the sun sets early, then. It cast eerie shadows through the trees and across the road and her face. The snow crunched under her feet at she made her way down the path, not thinking about anything in particular, just walking.

Hermione had just turned the last corner when she saw him. He was still wearing the same white clothes she had seen him in last, with an open bomber jacket overtop. The evening sunlight glinted off his hair, and reflected in his eyes. He didn't see her at first, but when he did, he smiled.

The smile froze her. She stopped in her tracks and just stood there, hugging herself in the cold, and staring at him. He kept walking towards her, and she strained to make herself believe that this was real. That this was actually happening. He stopped when he was right in front of her, but said nothing.

Hermione stared at the ground. She could feel tears beginning to well up behind her eyelids, even though her eyes were open. She finally felt his need for her to look at him, and she met his gaze.

His eyes were the same as she had always remembered them. She searched them thoroughly, looking for any sign that might give him away, something to say it wasn't really him. Nothing. They grew greener as she looked at him, and he silently held up one hand, palm facing her, patient and quiet.

Excruciatingly slowly, she raised her hand, her fingers lightly brushing his…

What happened next, Hermione could never afterwards be sure. It was all a blur of her fingers interlocking with his, and then being pulled to him, throwing her arms around his neck and holding him as close as she could, burying her face in his shoulder, feeling his arms around her waist, as tight as they had ever been. She didn't fully register on all this, though- her brain was concentrated on one thought: this was defiantly Ron.

Tears were streaming down her face. How she could go from being completely dry-eyed to having her face completely soaked in a matter of seconds was beyond her, but that was how it was. Ron was holding her so tightly that she was sure the grain of the fabric of her shirt would be forever imprinted in her skin. The hand that gripped her shoulders was almost painful. But she didn't care.

What she cared about was that Ron was _there_. He was there, safe in her arms, and she could feel his arms around her, and smell him, and see him… She wanted to scream and cry and dance and sing all at the same time, but instead she just held him tighter and cried silently into his shoulder.

"Hermione." Ron's rough voice reached her ears, and Hermione looked up and met his eyes. He had been crying, too, but his face was lit up by his signature grin that she loved. She smiled shakily back at him, still a little grimace-y from crying. Ron; hand came up and softly touched her cheek, then he pulled her close and kissed her, swiftly but intensely.

"I'm never letting you go again," she whispered huskily when they drew apart, still holding each other tightly. "If I have to handcuff you to me, so be it, I'm not letting you go."

He grinned, and kissed her again, pulling away only so that their noses were touching. "Fine by me," he responded cheerfully. "Fine by me." 

'


	30. Epilogue

Epilogue

The next hour or so was a little blurred. Harry and Ron were enthusiastically reunited after two years of time and a century's worth of worry. The Weasleys arrived en masse, by Floo Powder and Apparation, and there were hugs and kisses all around. But all the time, Ron never once let go of Hermione. No matter who he was hugging, he always had one hand clasped in hers, one arm around her shoulders… they moved as one, always maintaining the contact.

The celebrations lasted late into the night, and at last the non-Hogwarts-attending Weasleys were hustled off to the guest wing, for some much-needed rest. Harry and Ginny retreated to their respective dorms, leaving Hermione and Ron alone in the common room.

Hermione smiled, snuggling against Ron's shoulder as they lay back on the couch beside a dying fire. It had only been ten days, really, since he had left, but the pain and shock had stretched the days into an eternity. It was so good to be close to him again.

Finally, the question that had been put aside all evening bubbled up, and Hermione asked, "How on Earth did you get out of dying?"

She could hear Ron's grin as he replied. "I have no idea. The Ministry officials all had their theories, which I vaguely remember and do not in the least bit understand." He paused and gave her a squeeze before continuing. "The main fuel for the curse was my not knowing if you loved me or not," he said. "When you told me you did, told me in a way that made me _know_, I think that pretty much cancelled out the evil that was killing me. Dark magic is no match for love."

He paused again, and Hermione took the opportunity to stretch up and kiss him lightly before lying back down. "Finding out about Harry and Ginny helped, too," he continued. "It's hard to be eaten alive by evil and hatred when you're ecstatic that your best friend and sister are alive and well, and the person you love most in the world loves you right back."

She inched up his chest until her head was tucked under his chin. "I can't believe you didn't know I loved you," she chided him. "How thick are you?"

"Pretty thick," was his cheerful response. "You're the brain around here, not me."

Hermione smiled into Ron's shoulder, and wrapped one of her arms around his neck. "I love you, Ron," she said with conviction. "I'm glad you're back."

"I'm glad I'm back, too," he grinned. "Merry Christmas, Pixie."

That was the last thing she heard before she fell asleep…

…THE END…

'


	31. Disclaimers etc

Disclaimers, acknowledgements and announcements. 

Disclaimers

Any and all Harry Potter characters belong to the honorable J.K. Rowling, who breathes life into all us FF authors. May she live a long life and write lots and lots of books for her poor, sad, addicted audience. Wolfgang Boozier, the Minister of Magical law enforcement belongs to me, as does Jeffery the intern, whom I hope we will be able to hear from again later. I liked him.

Songs:

ChapterTitleArtistAlbum

8"Hold Me"Savage Garden_Affirmation_

11"I Shall Be There"B*Witched_Awake and Breathe_

19"Oh, Mr. Postman"B*Witched_B*Witched_

22"Viva Forever"Spice Girls_Spice World_

25"Home and the Heartland" ?_Riverdance_*

28"Song for a Winter's Night" _Rarities, B-Sides, and Other Stuff_**

*I don't know who wrote it, it's from the soundtrack for the Broadway show. I just happened to like it, and Ginny agreed.

** Written and performed by Gordon Lightfoot in the original version (which I hate with a passion) The one I used is performed by Sarah McLachlan.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to everybody who left me either a good review (I live on those—who needs food and sleep?) or a flame with a rational explanation. Everyone needs a little constructive criticism. 

Thank you to my friends who put up with my ranting about writers block and other such dilemmas and who clamored to read it when it was done (cheers, Mary!).

Thank you to Daddy, who listened to me when I told him the whole story, and only snored a little.

Thank you to all the beautiful people who sent me birthday cards!!!!! 

And finally, though I highly doubt she'll ever read this, thanks to J.K. Rowling, for her hard work in creating such memorable characters and settings. 

Announcements

My next story, when I finally get my S*** together and write it, will be titled _You Don't know Jack, _and the first chapter, "January" ought to be out some time soon. It will feature a few new characters, all of whom I love (they're soooooo fun to write!) as well as hints about future characters. Read it when I finally get it up and for Pete's sake, review!!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you, and goodnight.


End file.
